


Invitation

by cloudsNcoffee



Series: Why Don't We [3]
Category: Why Don't We (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Asian Character(s), Boyband, College, Dancing, Dancing and Singing, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, F/M, Falling In Love, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Higher Education, Love, Misunderstandings, Multi, Romance, Singing, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Teen Romance, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-02-07 09:43:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 43,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12838533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudsNcoffee/pseuds/cloudsNcoffee
Summary: Brooke.I had a plan for my life, written out with bullet points and different colors of ink.This is not that.Jack.I knew it would be a spectacularly bad idea to pursue her.Too bad that's my calling card.Or:'Would you date a fan?' has always seemed like a hypothetical question, until now.





	1. Not You

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer:  
> While this was written with the public persona of the band and their team in mind, the following work is fiction.  
> I don't know them, own them, or claim to have any insight into their real lives.
> 
>  
> 
> Unbeta-ed, please be kind.

 

Brooke.

“I won!” Hannah shrieks after I answer her call.  
I pull my phone away from my ear, “I’m gonna need you to be more specific, Hannah.”  
“The contest, Brookie! Remember?!”

I do remember. Hannah’s my best friend, and recently, she’s become obsessed with this band. She’s not crazy, but she did change her twitter handle, and make me drive with her to three of their shows. I vaguely recall her telling me months ago about a radio contest, the chance to fly out to Los Angeles to hang out with them, and something about a video.  
It seemed very unlikely to happen at the time.

“You won?”  
“Yes!” I think I can hear her jumping up and down. “A weekend with Why Don’t We!”  
“That’s great, Haz.” I really am excited for her, but I’m halfway across the courtyard, and freezing, as I let myself in the lobby of my dorm, so I don’t quite get what she says next.  
I flash my ID at the Security Guard behind the desk, making my way up the stairwell, because the elevator cuts out cell service, and moves glacially slow.  
Hannah continues talking a hundred miles an hour in my ear. I hum into the phone, inserting my key into my door. I kick it open, then check the room for my sister. She’s still gone.

I’m panting from the stairs, which serves to remind me I need to make it to the gym more often.  
My backpack thuds down on my desk, and I tune back into Hannah, “We’ll leave on Friday, or maybe Thursday, you might have to miss class then…”  
“Wait. What?”  
“I don’t know when the flights will be, but I’m sure it’ll be fine!”  
Which day the flying would occur was not the issue I had with her statement, “I didn’t win the contest.” I didn’t even apply.  
“Were you even listening?” Hannah sighs, “It’s for two. You and me. You agreed to come, like thirty seconds ago.”  
“I wasn’t not listening,” I protest, still slightly out of breath.  
“You took the stairs again, didn’t you?”  
“Yes.”  
“Look, I haven’t had a weekend with you in forever. Please, please, please say you’ll come.”  
Like I could turn her down, “Yes, fine. I’ll work something out…”  
“Yes!” Hannah’s back to screaming. “It’s going to be great, I promise you’ll love it.”  
I’m not sure about that, but I let her gush anyway, while I sort out my room.  
I open the blinds first, looking out of my sister’s window at the sliver of a view we’re paying for, the traffic flying down Broadway. I push the glass up the several inches we can, because our dorm is apparently always going to be sweltering.  
When we moved in, there was no A/C. In August, in New York City.  
Then the week it started to cool down outside, the building turned the heat on. We don’t have a thermostat or any controls in our room, so the best we can do to regulate the temperature is open the windows, and even then we’re barred from opening them completely.  
It’s a massive waste of energy, but it’s better than dying of a heat stroke in our dorm room.  
I move to hang my coat on the closet door, my phone pressed between my ear and shoulder. Finally, I steal a breakfast bar from on top of Lake’s desk, then collapse on my bed.  
Hannah’s still going, “I wonder if we’ll get to see their house? Maybe we’ll get to stay there! I need new pajamas…”  
“‘Ana,” Her name comes out muffled from the granola in my mouth, “There’s no way we’re staying with them. You don’t need to buy new anything.”  
“But what if?”  
“No.”  
“But we could?”  
“No.” I snap off another bite.  
“Are you eating?”  
I crunch louder.  
“Oh, gross. You know how much I hate that, Brookie.”  
“I know, but you love me.” It’s intelligible around the last of the bar, but Hannah gets the idea.  
“Not anymore!” She laughs. “Do you have tons of homework?”  
I nod, fully aware she can’t see me.  
She sighs, “Okay. I’ll let you go, call me later!”  
Hannah hangs up without waiting for a response, because she knows I’ll listen to her. That’s what years of friendship affords me, horrible phone etiquette and assumed plus one status.  
I force myself back up to toss the wrapper in the trash, surveying Lake’s side of the room.  
It’s a mess.  
We’ve been sharing a room, since the womb, as our mother likes to say; somehow that meant we had to dorm together in college too. Lake and I couldn’t be more different though.  
Her half of the room is filled with her work. Pastels and charcoals everywhere, her walls already contain multiple smudges. I’m certain we’ll be getting charged for that.  
My bunk, in contrast, is made. Everything is organized, and nothing is marked up unless it’s supposed to be. I still color code my class notebooks the way we were taught in middle school.  
I drag my backpack up into my bed, pull out my laptop and headphones, then get to work.

 

 

“Brooke.”  
Someone shoves at my shoulder.  
“Brooke.”  
I open my eyes to my sister’s face, inches away from mine.  
“Brooke.” She shoves me again for good measure.  
“Lake.”  
“Oh, good.” She smiles, “You’re up.”  
I close my eyes.  
“Hey! Not so fast, have you eaten today?”  
I open my eyes again, looking at her face, clearer now she’s moved back.  
We’re not identical, but we look enough alike to be tested when we were toddlers. It probably didn’t help our Dad was obsessed with dressing us in matching outfits.  
Lake has my nose, eyes, and currently, the same concerned set to her mouth we get from our mother. It’s not quite a frown, but close.  
I can practically hear our father’s refrain, ‘Sisters take care of each other, not take each other apart’, echo in her mind. There was a phase of our lives, roughly ages two to fifteen, he would remind us of that everyday, worried we would destroy each other otherwise.

We’ve had some epic fights about crayons and curling irons.  
That’s mostly in the past now.

“I had a granola bar…” I check the clock, “Four hours ago.”  
She rolls her eyes, “Get up. We’re going to John Jay with the floor.”  
“Yay.” I say sarcastically, closing my laptop, my half-finished assignment still blinking on the screen. I’m not a fan of the dining hall, or the residents of our dorm.  
“Don’t be like that.” Lake gives me a jacket, while I shove my shoes on.  
I try for a more genuine smile, and I think I almost succeed, but Lake just shakes her head at me, locking the door behind us.

I try to be nice during dinner. It’s not Lake’s fault we were assigned to a floor of people exactly like her (the hipster artist types, as Hannah would say), or that I’m having a harder time adjusting than she is. Not that I would ever tell her that.  
There’s a lot I don’t tell my sister anymore.

  
I do tell her about Hannah’s call though.  
“So, you’re going to California?” She squints at me while she packs up her backpack. We’re back in our room after dinner, but she’s leaving to go meet someone, somewhere, to work on something, all of the details of which I missed at dinner.  
“Looks like it. Hannah said it was for a weekend… I probably won’t even have to miss class.” It’s one of my favorite things about our school, no regular classes on Fridays.  
“Huh.” She zips up her bag, “Are you going to tell Mom?”  
That’s the million dollar question.  
“I was thinking…”  
“I won’t lie for you.” She cuts me off.  
“I’m not asking you to. I was just thinking, maybe, I wouldn’t tell her until I got back?” I give her my best hopeful look.  
Our mother is a saint, for raising us and being married to our Dad, but she’s afraid of the world, and especially places she can’t come with us. It’s honestly surprising we were allowed to move out for college. There is no way she would approve of this trip, even if I got Dad on my side first.  
“Okay.” Lake gives in quicker than I anticipated.  
“Okay?”  
“Yes, okay.” Lake nods. “It might be good for you.”  
I think the look she gives me is pitying, but she’s out the door before I can ask what that’s supposed to mean.  
I open my laptop, then groan at how much work I still have left to do.  
I really need to stop napping during the day. I would add it to my to-do list, along with eating better and going to the gym, but I don’t like to add things I know aren’t going to happen.

 

  
“What’s his name?”  
“Hannah.”  
“Wrong. You know this one.” She pushes her phone closer to my nose.  
“Hazza.”  
“Brookie.”  
“Is it too late to ask someone to trade seats?”  
She cracks a smile at that.

We’re two hours into our flight, and I had planned to be asleep by this point.  
I take Hannah’s phone from her, scrolling for a picture of the whole band. When I find a group shot, I give her their names pointing at each of them, because she’s acting like there’s going to be a test, “I sincerely doubt they’re going to care if I can’t remember who’s who.”  
“I care!”  
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “I know. That’s the whole reason we’re here, flying through space in this metal petri dish.” Now I sound like my mother. “You need to chill.”  
“I’m chill.”  
I look her over. “Go put your sweatpants on.”  
I’m sensibility traveling in the cleanest pajamas that could be found in my dorm room, namely my sister’s crewneck and a pair of leggings.  
Hannah’s wearing heels.“I’m good.”  
“You don’t need to impress anyone at the airport.” I pluck at the fuzz on my sweatshirt.  
“What if they meet us there?” Hannah straightens her top.  
“That’s not going to happen.” I lean my head down on her shoulder.  
“But it could.”  
“Hannah.” I groan, “There is no way they’re going to be waiting for you at the Los Angeles airport. Please go take those shoes off. It’s hurting me to look at them.”  
She shakes her head laughing, “Fine.”  
“Good.”  
She stands up, rolling my head off her shoulder. She sticks her tongue out at me, strutting down the isle to the bathroom.  
I have to give it to her, at least she can walk in those things.  
I look like a newborn giraffe in heels, and not in the adorable way.

 

 

 

Jack.

I’m standing outside a sprinter van, waiting at the airport with the guys.  
Jonah’s leaning up against it, as is his habit to make himself smaller, with a beanie pulled low over his head and his eyes closed. Not enough coffee today, evidently.   
Corbyn’s sat down on the curb, texting his girlfriend ugly selfies of his freshly bleached, aggressively white hair.   
Zach’s reaching for whatever Daniel has managed to steal from him, one fist held up above his head. I ignore them, hoping it doesn’t evolve into a wrestling match on the sidewalk.   
Our manager is still behind the wheel of the van, leaving me to scan the doors, looking for the girls we’re here to surprise.   
I’m not sure why management approved a radio station giveaway for a fan trip out here to spend the weekend with us, but here we are. It seems like a bad idea, which are usually my specialty, but something about this is making me feel uneasy.   
They gave us the twitter handle of the girl who won, a fiery ginger college girl; so I think I know who I’m looking for at least.  
I spot her before she sees us, and elbow Daniel. He gets the other guys’ attention, everyone straightening up instantly.

Fan interactions are unpredictable at best. We’re literally never sure if someone is about to jump us.   
Girls throwing themselves at me is not the future I could imagine in Middle School.

The contest winner, Hannah, is red-headed, her frizzy hair pulled back into that top knot thing girls do. She’s wearing sweats, walking slightly behind another girl, but her hair makes her hard to miss.   
The girl in front of her has her head down, staring into her phone. She’s slightly smaller, pointed chin and short dark hair falling in front of half her face, “Do you remember which hotel it is? Or if they’re sending a car?” She doesn’t look up.  
Hannah notices us then, fisting the back of the dark-haired girl’s sweatshirt, “Brookie.”  
“No, you’re right. We definitely need a taxi. Maybe I should call…” She blows at her hair, still not lifting her head.  
Hannah yanks her to a stop, “Brooke.”  
Her head pops up then, and we’re directly in her line of sight. “Oh.” Her mouth forms a perfect circle, before she starts laughing.   
She’s cute, wearing purple cat-eye glasses perched on her nose, dark eyes hiding behind them, and a sweatshirt reading ‘COLUMBIA’ across the front. Her leggings are covered in lions, tucked into black Doc Martens.   
She keeps laughing until she notices my frown.  
“Not you.” She shakes her head, striding forward, extending her hand out towards me, “Hi. I’m Brooke.”  
Out of all the reactions I was expecting, that wasn’t one of them.  
I shake her hand on autopilot, “Uh, Jack.”   
She drags Hannah, still gripping at the back of her sweatshirt, down the line, shaking all the other guys’ hands too. Brooke isn’t remotely starstruck, and when she’s done, she turns to thrust her friend Daniel’s direction, smiling the whole time.   
I really want to know what the joke is.

Hannah is a hugger, which is much more what I was expecting. She is quiet though, hardly talking until we file back into the van.  
“I can’t believe I listened to you.” She hisses at Brooke.   
Brooke snickers, “It’s not that bad.”  
“I’m wearing pink sweatpants.”  
“I’m wearing glasses.”   
“Those are mostly decorative.”  
“I’d argue the same for your pants.”  
They both giggle then, some kind of tension breaking.  
“So we surprised you, huh?” Zach kneels up in his seat.   
“Yes.” They answer together.   
“Good.” He nods one time.   
“Where are you guys from?” Corbyn turns around to look back at the girls.   
“North Carolina.”  
“We’ve done some shows there.”   
“It’s nice. Hannah still lives there.” Brooke looks at her phone, the corners of her mouth turning down a fraction.  
“You don’t?” I angle my body towards them.   
“Nope.” Brooke pops, looking up at me, “I’m in college in New York.”  
“New York City?” Corbyn gets excited, the way he’s prone to do with anything possibly relating to his girlfriend. Not that he isn’t plain excitable, but she’s his weak spot.   
Brooke nods.   
“Really?” Corbyn smiles, “FIT?”  
“No. Some of my friends go there though.”   
Hannah hooks a finger in the collar of Brooke’s sweatshirt, lifting it up, “Brooke goes to Columbia.”   
“Oh…” Corbyn drawls, “That makes sense.”   
“That's the Ivy League, right?” Jonah asks from his seat in the front.  
“Yeah…” Brooke crosses her arms over her chest, dislodging Hannah’s hand.  
“That’s awesome.”   
“Hannah’s a nurse.” She rushes out.  
“For real?”  
“Aren’t you too young?”  
Hannah blushes, but nods. “I’m only an RN, for now.”  
“She’s going to be a BSN in the NICU after next year.” Brooke brags on her, and she acts a lot more comfortable with this subject.   
“I don’t know what any of those words mean.” Zach tilts his head.  
Jonah laughs, “It’s a higher degree, to work with the tiny babies.”  
“Oh.”  
“How do you know that?” Brooke leans forward, “Most guys have no idea what that means.”  
“My mom’s a midwife.”  
“That’s awesome.” Brooke seems to mean that. Hannah’s still a little bug eyed, as she has been since we started talking, and I’m just glad one of them will talk.  
“Yeah, it is,” Jonah grins, because he’s close to his mom, and genuinely proud of her work. “What are you majoring in?”   
Brooke and Hannah both make a face.  
“I…” Brooke starts.  
“Cowardliness.” Hannah interrupts.   
“Thanks, Haz.” Brooke narrows her eyes at her, “I’m undecided.” She directs to Jonah.  
“You’re decided to bend to your dad’s will.” Hannah sighs, and it’s obvious this is a recurring discussion.  
“Columbia,” Brooke speaks over her, “has a common core program; whatever I decide to do, I have to get a bunch of general education classes done first anyway.” She pushes her glasses up, “I won’t declare a major until next year.”  
“Huh.” Corbyn nods, “My girlfriend is in Marketing Management and Communications at FIT.”   
“Columbia’s like twenty minutes uptown from there, on the one train.”   
Corbyn is always happy to talk Christina, so he and Brooke fall into talking New York until we reach the hotel.

We help them out of the van, discussing our plans for the morning, and hugging Hannah again. Then we wave goodbye to Brooke before heading back to our rental of the week.  
We’re in between places at the moment, but at least we’ve got our own rooms in this house. 

  
“That wasn’t awful.” Zach declares, throwing himself down on the couch.   
“Yeah.” Daniel shoves his feet down to sit, “They’re kinda cute, aren't they, Jack?”   
“They’re nice.” I grit my teeth his direction, I might have checked Brooke out, but I know Daniel’s baiting me for fun.  
“I think it went well.” Jonah spins his phone in his hand, “Eli says to make sure you wear sneakers tomorrow.” His smile goes unfailingly dopey at her name, our choreographer slash his sort-of secret girlfriend.  
Corbyn grumbles something, to low to understand, and I groan too. 

  
There’s nothing more fun than taking a couple pretty girls to watch you make a fool of yourself during dance rehearsals first thing in the morning, right?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. 'Just Do It Later'

  
Brooke.

If I wasn’t operating on East Coast time, I think I would be dead. Hannah’s alarm went off at six thirty.  
In the morning.  
I only wanted to strangle her for a second.  
Mornings are not for me. Lake says I’m a night-owl, because she’s the early bird, but Hannah argues that I’m a permanently exhausted pigeon; she even gave me a magnet printed with that once. I think it’s still on our fridge at home.

Hannah insisted we needed to shower and get food before the guys came back to the hotel for us. Thus why I was rudely awoken by her alarm at an ungodly hour, because it takes her forever to do her hair and makeup, and I never know what to do with any of it. By the time we’re both finished in front of the mirror, we’ve got five minutes left to grab breakfast and be in the lobby.

Hannah looks prefect, her makeup flawless, her hair shiny and straight, with one of her best outfits on. I manage eyeliner and concealer, and I’m not wearing pajamas today, so I’m counting it all as a win.  
She’d been weird last night, shocked at seeing the guys, then shy about our travel clothes. I’m optimistic she’ll be herself today. Thankfully, because I don’t think I could carry us through another day. It helped that the boys were nicer than I expected, funny and smart, but I’m not ordinarily comfortable with strangers. Hannah’s the outgoing one, I’m more comfortable in shadows.

I’m shoving a bagel in my mouth when the band walks into the hotel lobby. Hannah’s sipping at her water, and maintains her composure when she sees them this time. I watch her fist clench, excitement and nerves, until they hug her, and she lingers with Daniel for seconds longer than the rest of them. I can’t help grinning. Her crush on him feels ancient. I remember voting for him on American Idol with her in High School. He’s grown up a lot.

I fall into step with the pierced one, Jack, as we exit the lobby. His curls are tucked under a hoodie this morning, and we’re both quiet behind the rest of our group.  
Jack catches the door from Jonah, to hold it open for me, “Did you sleep okay? We’ve never stayed at this hotel, but I’ve heard good things.”  
“Yeah, it was…”  
“Good. Good. What about breakfast? Did you make it to breakfast?” He rambles.  
I hold up the half a bagel still in my hand.  
“Right.” Jack nods, “What about coffee? Did you get coffee? Do you even drink coffee?”  
I have to smile, “Do you always talk this much?”  
“Only when he’s nervous.” Corbyn smacks a hand on his back.

I don’t know what to do with that information. I doubt it’s me making him nervous, but I’m still glad I don’t have to do anything about it, as we’re hurried into the same big van they picked us up in at the airport yesterday.  
Jack ends up in the front, and I reclaim my seat next to Hannah in the back.

  
While we sit in traffic, making our way through the city, I text my sister to let her know I haven’t been kidnapped yet, to which she replies ‘don’t die, I’m not explaining to Mom.’  
I don’t dignify that with a response, instead studying the world outside my window.

The van slows to pull into a parking lot next to what looks like a massive brick warehouse. I would be concerned, if it wasn’t for the sea of minivans parked around us.  
Zach yanks the door open, all of the guys jumping down, then fighting to offer Hannah and I hands to help us climb down. I ignore them to leaping out on my own.  
I get a better look at the building from outside the van, but I still can’t tell what it would have been built for. It’s old with windows built into the brick, and I know that’s unusual for a warehouse.  
The boys stroll through the parking lot into the lobby like they own the place. Most everyone ignores them. There’s a few parents scattered into chairs, and a twenty-ish looking receptionist behind a desk who pays us no mind. The band crowds around an open doorway, peering into what I can tell now is a dance studio.  
Through the glass wall lining the hallway, I can see a group of pre-teens practicing; girls in leotards and ballet shoes, boys in tights and tee shirts.  
Their music pauses suddenly, a tall blonde clapping to bring everyone’s attention to her. She’s standing in the back of the room, holding up an iPod plugged into a speaker system, “That was brilliant. Good effort today, everyone.”  
“Will you please show us the rest now?” One of the kids begs.  
Jack pipes up, “Yeah! Please?”  
The blonde turns our direction then, “You’re early.”  
“Great observation.” Corbyn cracks.  
“Pretty please?” Another student pleads, several more interlacing their hands beneath their chins and batting their lashes.  
“Please?” Zach eggs them on, copying their pose.  
The blonde relents, “Only if you stretch as you watch.”  
There’s a chorus of cheers, and the guys start to walk into the room.  
“No street shoes on the ballet floor!”  
“Whoops,” Corbyn makes a face, and they walk out backwards, calling ‘Sorry, Sorry!’ toeing their shoes off in the hallway.  
“You can leave your socks on.” Zach turns to Hannah and I.  
I look to her, and she shrugs. We follow their lead, pulling our shoes off, to leave them there and enter the studio.  
We join the class sitting along the back wall, the band exchanging handshakes and checking in with students, most of whom they know by name.  
Their instructor restarts the music, and everyone shuts up instantly.  
The kids were good, from what I know about dance, but the blonde is striking.  
Hannah grips my arm, and I think my jaw drops.  
She’s crazy flexible and expressive. I can read every emotion in her dance, even though she appeared detached before she started moving.  
When the song finishes, the room erupts into cheers. Her student clap politely, but the band hollers and whistles like they’re at a rock concert.  
She grins then, one side of her mouth raised, as she sends the boys, and by proxy Hannah and I, down the hall to a different studio.

We’re nearly to to the end of the hall when her voice calls, “Sneakers, Jo.”  
Jonah stumbles, then blushes, as he hustles back down the hallway to retrieve his Adidas.  
Daniel punches at his shoulder once he gets back to new studio.  
“Are shoes okay in here?” Hannah asks before entering the room.  
“Sure.” Jack looks back to us, “It’s just that one studio they’re not.”  
“It messes with the chalk.” Jonah explains.  
“Chalk?” I ask over my shoulder, examining the windows on the outside wall.  
“For pointe shoes,” A female voice interrupts, the blonde walking in, pulling a sweatshirt over her head. “Rosin, or chalk as these guys call it, helps them stick to the floor, which gets the dancers better cling.” She’s switched her dance shoes for Nikes, and put on a pair of skinny jeans that gape in the space between her hipbones, her black leotard still showing.  
She might as well be speaking german, extending a hand towards Hannah and I.  
Hannah’s eyes go wide, “Oh my god, you’re Elijah James.”  
She nods once, “Eli’s fine.”  
“Oh my god.” Hannah repeats, “I knew rehearsals were on the schedule, but I didn’t think they would be with you. This is awesome.”  
“It’s nice to meet you too.” Eli says sincerely, moving to shake my hand, but Hannah keeps talking.  
“You’re so tall in real life.”  
“Thanks…” She lets it trail off.  
“I’m Brooke, that’s Hannah.” I tip my head her direction, and Eli smiles.  
Hannah’s statement is accurate, Eli is tall. She’s also insanely gorgeous.  
Her build is willowy, the kind of skinny that exposed her ribs and the bumps of her spine when she was dancing before in her leotard, with green eyes, an upturned button nose, and dimples that soften her face when she smiles.  
She’d be adorable, if there wasn’t something serious about her.  
I feel self-conscious just standing next to her.

“Grab a couple chairs from the hall, guys.” Eli directs, turning back towards them. They jump to do her bidding, from where they had grouped together on the other side of the room.  
Daniel and Jonah get out there first, carrying back in a chair under each arm, making Eli shake her head, “We only need two, unless you’ve got more girls coming?”  
“Nope.” Zach throws an arm over her shoulders, awkwardly, since she’s taller than he is, “Unless you’ve got a surprise for us?”  
She pinches his side, making him flinch. “You’re awake this morning.”  
He smirks, “Jonah gave me coffee.”  
Eli cuts a look at Jonah, and he shrugs sheepishly, “He wouldn’t get up. I didn’t want to be late.”  
She taps her head against Zach’s, “That’s not on your meal plan.”  
“Sorry, E.”  
“No, you’re not.” She ducks out from under his arm, crossing the room to a set of speakers.  
Zach winks at us, “No. I’m not.”  
Eli picks up an iPod, using it to gesture towards the wall where Daniel put his chairs, “If you girls would take a seat, we’ll get started.”

It’s interesting enough, watching them practice dance moves and mess around, but I get bored quickly. I poke Hannah, “Pen?”  
She gives me her disapproving face, digging in her massive bag anyway until she finds one.  
I slide out of my chair to the floor, and she extends one leg out for me.  
“I like these shoes, Brookie.”  
“I was going for your jeans.”  
She rolls her foot around, too entranced by the boys to discuss this with me.  
I removed the pen cap with my teeth, then get to work.

I sketch, and sketch, and sketch until the side seam of her jeans is covered, and the guys are finished, their music my soundtrack.

 

 

 

 

Jack.

Eli takes it easy on us.   
Usually, her rehearsals leave us sweating and crying for mercy. Today, she’s benevolent.   
When she declares we can ‘escape for now’, we take her up on it immediately.  
Zach straight up runs to the parking lot. We’ve learned that if we stick around for too long, she’ll inevitably find work for us.   
After the girls get a picture with Eli outside, we start to climb back into the van. I catch Jonah tugging on Eli's braid out of the corner of my eye, but m y attention snags on Hannah’s jeans. 

I saw Brooke sink to the floor, during the third song, and had been distracted by the way she rolled a pen cap around between her teeth, but I thought she was scribbling. I just assumed she was doodling flowers or something.  
This is art.   
The side seam of Hannah’s jeans have a cityscape drawn on them. There’s dozens of tiny buildings, in perspective, complete with landscaping in black ink down her leg.   
“That’s incredible.”   
“What’s?” Corbyn starts, then sees what I’m looking at. “Oh, shit.”  
“That’s sick.”  
“You drew that?” Zach’s eyes are wide, and they’re all staring at Hannah’s pants, but I’m watching Brooke.   
She tilts her head down, her hair falling forward to cover her face. “I…”  
“Brooke does that to anything she can put a pen to.” Hannah answers for her.  
“That’s so cool.”   
“Hey, Jonah,” Zach calls him over, breaking his trance of staring the direction Eli left, “Look at this.”  
He comes back to us, “Whoa. That’s crazy.”   
“It’s nothing.” Brooke pulls Hannah to make her sit down, at the same time Hannah says, “You should see what she can do with draft paper.”

Hannah finds her phone in her purse to show us, but we’re forced to decided where we’re going for lunch, and in the chaos that question brings, looking at Brooke’s work gets forgotten.   
Brooke seems relieved, but that only adds to my curiosity.

We’re at Chipotle, crowded together around a table, stuffing our faces in between carrying on conversations with the girls, when Brooke’s phone buzzes against the table. Her case is black with cat ears.   
Hannah lifts it up, grimacing, “God, he’s a creep.”  
Brooke’s mouth is full, so she holds a hand in front of her face, mumbling something to Hannah that I can’t make out.  
Hannah seems to know exactly what she said, “Hi Dew. Dew, like D-E-W. Are you going to be at the hall party tonight? Haven’t seen you around today! Let me know!” She reads what I guess the message was, with fake enthusiasm.  
Brooke swallows, “I don’t think he means it how it sounds.”  
Hannah sneers, “He’s a massive weirdo, Bee. He means it exactly as it sounds, like he’s a creep.”  
“Who is?” Zach leans forward on his elbows. He’s such a gossip.  
Brooke takes her phone back from Hannah, “My RA.”  
“That means resident advisor, right?” Corbyn lifts an eyebrow. In fairness to Zach, the whole band is nosey.   
“Yes.” Brooke nods, “He seems harmless. I wouldn’t call him a creep… Misguided, maybe.”   
“Why does he call you Dew?” I have to ask.   
“What did he call your sister last week?” Hannah steals a chip from Brooke’s plate, “Rain?”  
“River.”  
“Whatever.” Hannah crunches down, “It’s still strange.” She addresses us, “He calls them anything water related but their names.”  
“Why?” Jonah smacks Zach’s hand down from trying to sneak food off his plate.   
Zach pouts.  
Brooke shrugs, “He thinks it’s funny. My sister’s name is Lake.”   
I catch her eyes, “No, like, why does he call your sister anything?”  
“She’s my roommate?” Brooke turns it into a sort of question.   
“How?” Corbyn interjects, “Did she skip a grade or fail one? I thought freshman had to room together.”   
“They do. Lake’s my twin.”   
“You’re a twin?” Zach’s face lights up. “Are you identical?”   
Brooke smirks, and Hannah laughs. “No, but that’s always everyone’s first question.”   
“Lake’s a couple inches taller than Brooke.” Hannah lifts a hand above her head.  
“And prettier,” Brooke adds, “and has better hair.”  
I frown, while Corbyn pulls a funny face, “Wait. Your sister’s name is Lake?”  
“That’s why the water nicknames.” Hannah sighs, “It’s really, deeply unoriginal.”   
“At least he doesn’t call us by each other’s name.”   
“I know.”  
“I’d rather be River than Lake.” They both laugh at that.  
“Are your parents naturalist, or…?” Jonah trails off.  
“Hippies.” Brooke grins, “Or they were when we were born. If we were boys we would have been Forest and Cove. My Dad claims we’re lucky we’re not Sunshine and Summer.”   
Jonah nods with acute understanding, he’s got the most common name out of his family. I hum in consolation, even knowing her for a day I can’t imagine her as a Sunshine.   
Hannah take another chip from Brooke’s plate, “You’d be a cute Sunny.”  
“Except I’d definitely be Summer.”   
“Who’s older?” I cough, “Between you and your sister?”  
“They’re twins, stupid.” Zach sticks his tongue out.   
“I know that, but one of them is still older.” I push him away from me.   
“Lake’s older,” Brooke hands me her phone, a picture of her and a girl that looks seriously similar to her open on the screen. “By twenty minutes.”   
I angle her phone for the other guys to see; Brooke’s wearing jeans, and what looks like a Nike hoodie, expect it reads ‘Just Do It Later’ across the front. Her sister’s standing next to her in heels and a fancy dress.   
“I like your sweatshirt.” Brooke looks at me like I’ve surprised her.  
“Why is she dressed up?” Daniel zooms in a little on the picture. Brooke’s hair is the same as in real life, cropped to her chin, but her sister’s is long and curled at the ends.   
“Prom.” Hannah reaches for Brooke’s phone, unlocking it.  
“You didn’t go to prom?” Jonah asks.  
“I did.” Brooke takes her phone from Hannah, “Responding encourages him,” She pockets it, continuing,“Lake was invited to three.”  
“We barely went to one half of one.” Hannah informs us.  
“We left early. Didn’t even make it to the punch.” Brooke twirls her straw in her glass.  
“We had a better time at Waffle House, anyway.” Hannah ruffles her bangs.  
“Absolutely.” Brooke smiles, “Hash-browns cure all.”   
They laugh again, and we must look lost, because Hannah lets us in on the joke, “I got broken up with at our prom.”   
“You got dumped at prom?” If Zach leans forward anymore, he’s going to face-plant into the table.   
Jonah grabs his shirt to tug him back into his seat, “That sucks, I’m sorry.”  
“Thank you, but it’s okay.”  
“Don’t be sorry. He was miserable.” Brooke says flatly.   
“Thanks, Brookie.” Hannah replies, mock-offended.   
“He was, Hazza. Everyone but you saw it.”  
“Well, I know that now.” Hannah waves a hand in the air.

They tell us the rest of the story, stopping occasionally because they’re laughing too hard to speak, and that makes me laugh more than the story does. It reminds me of my oldest sisters; Syd and Ava, who volley back and forth in the same way, verbally sparing over storytelling, driving each-other crazy, but with a lot of love.

Brooke’s super sarcastic, which I find it kind of fantastic.   
Hannah’s funny too, but it’s Brooke’s dry wit that gets me.

They conclude their story with a three o’clock attempted egging of the guy’s house, and then we’re rushed out of the restaurant to make it to a photoshoot and location preview for tomorrow.

It’s boring, even for me, so I really hope somebody’s planned something fun for us to do with these girls tonight. Not only because I’m bored, either, but because I actually like hanging out with them, especially Brooke. 


	3. Not Enough Xanax on Earth

Brooke.

“There’s not enough Xanax on earth to get me on that thing, Hazza.”  
We’re at the pier, wading through swarms of people after the guys, and I’ve just realized exactly which direction they’re leading us.  
Their management dropped us off at the entrance with scarcely a goodbye and a ‘meet back here’ in two hours. I’m not generally opposed to this activity, except that everyone’s marching towards the Ferris Wheel, and that just isn’t going to happen.  
I nearly broke the armrest on the plane, and I didn’t even have a window seat.  
Heights are not for me.

Hannah comes back to reality for a minute, looking back and forth between me and the spinning death trap. “Crap. Sorry, Brookie. Do you want me to stay with you?”

Hannah’s undoubtedly the best person I know. When she offers to skip out on something she means it, even if it’s something she’d like to do. She’s that nice.  
She’d happily miss out to make me feel better, which is why I can’t let her.  
“No. You go for it. I’ll…” I crane my neck, looking for anything else to do.  
“Hey!” Jack and Daniel notice we’re not following them anymore, “What’s up?”  
“I can’t do that.” I tilt my head the direction they’d been going.  
The sides of Jack’s mouth turn down, “Why not?”  
“She’s afraid of heights.” Hannah tells them.  
“It’s really safe,” Daniel tries for reassuring, “We’ve done it a bunch of time.”  
“Statistically…” I start, but Hannah cuts me off with a hand over my mouth.  
“Nope. No one wants a math lesson right now.” She shakes her head.  
I stick my tongue out, and she yanks her hand away, shrieking jokingly.  
I push her towards them, “I’m good here. You go ahead.”  
“I can stay with you.” Daniel offers, and I catch the flash of disappointment on Hannah’s face.  
“Seriously. I’m good.” I’m not going to ruin this for her.  
“I’m actually really hungry.” Jack steps towards me, “Daniel’s right, we’ve done this a lot. You should help me find food.”  
“I don’t know…”  
“Please feed me?” Jack’s got crazy long lashes, and the most ridiculous sad puppy face.  
“If you’re sure.” I cave, laughing.  
He laughs too, sweeping an arm out, “Lead the way.”  
I look back to check with Hannah, but she’s already gone.

Jack walks beside me, back the way we came, our arms brushing occasionally.  
“You don’t know where the food is?” I have to ask.  
“Of course I know where the food is.” He fixes his hair, “I just figured you needed an out for Daniel.”  
“I was trying to be discreet.”  
“That’s okay. I won’t tell him.” Jack winks.  
I have to smile, “I mean, Hannah won a fan contest. It’s not like you guys didn’t know.”  
“And you?”  
“And me what?”  
“Are you a fan?” He steers me down the boardwalk.  
“I drove her to three of your shows.”  
“That doesn’t have to mean anything.”  
“One was in Florida. I don’t love her that much.”  
He sputters out a laugh, and I grin. “Daniel was the only one whose name I knew last week, though. Sorry.”  
“Whoa. That’s harsh.” He rubs at his heart. “Idol, right?”  
I nod. “We were crushed he didn’t win.” Hannah might have cried, but I keep that to myself.  
“He was so cute, wasn’t he?”  
“The cutest.” I sigh, “Too bad he outgrew it.”  
That’s a lie, Daniel’s still cute, but it’s worth saying for the way it makes Jack sputter again.

It smells obnoxiously of fried food, and everything is flashing. I take it all in. “It’s so bright.”  
“I know.” Jack steps into a line, for what looks like either funnel cakes or nachos.  
“There’s so much neon.”  
“You live in New York, aren’t you used to it?”  
“Like Times Square?”  
He nods.  
I scuff a boot against the ground, “No. I’ve only been once since I moved in. Columbia’s the Upper West Side, and I hardly ever leave.”  
“Why not?”  
“I’m too busy with school, and when I’m not, I spend a lot of time hiding in my dorm.” I tell him the too honest thing without thinking. He nods, and doesn’t run away. Somehow that keeps me from doing the same, even with embarrassment coloring my cheeks. “I didn’t mean to say that.”  
“I understand.” Jack gestures towards the menu board as we reach the front of the time, “What do you want?”  
“Oh.” I start to shake me head, “I’m fine.”  
“Please.” He scoffs, “No one can resist fried bread.” He pulls out his wallet, “My treat, okay?”  
My mother taught me, from as early as I can remember, the only appropriate polite response when someone offers you food is ‘yes, thank you.’  
So I end up with a Nutella covered funnel cake, and Jack’s right. It’s pretty much irresistible.

We wonder around, people watching while stuffing our faces with pure gluttony. The sugar high might keep me awake until our flight home.

“Even the prizes are neon.” I point out the cheap stuffed toys hanging in the arcade section.  
“Do you want one?” Jack eyes the game booths.  
“You don’t have to.”  
“I don’t have to what?” He smiles with powdered sugar on his nose, “I don’t have to win the cute girl a terrible neon stuffed animal? I think I do.”  
“Smooth.” I get the sugar off his nose with my thumb, giggling despite myself.

He manages to win one of the ring toss games, stepping back to pick the prize beaming. He studies me then the rows of prizes before making up his mind.  
The attendant hands Jack a horrible bright pink dragon, and he makes a show of presenting it to me.  
“Thank you.” I clutch it against my chest. It’s surprisingly soft.  
“You’re very welcome.” He looks away from me. “What’s her name?”  
“Haku.” I tuck it under my arm as we start walking again. “His name is Haku.”  
“No gender conforming colors for you,” He nods, “Got it. Haku.” He nearly gets the pronunciation right.  
“Haku.” I correct, and he gets it the next time.  
“Haku, and that’s… I mean, which…” He blows out a breath, “I don’t want to be insensitive, here, or like…”  
“Japanese.” I save him, “My mom’s second generation American, but I grew up on Studio Ghibli.”  
“They made Kiki’s Delivery Service, right?”  
“Yes, and My Neighbor Totoro, and Spirited Away. That’s where Haku’s from, he’s the dragon river spirit.”  
“I don’t think I’ve seen that one.”  
“You should. It was my favorite growing up. The only Japanese my sister and I could speak was reciting lines to each other.”  
Jack opens his mouth to ask something else, but he’s interrupted by Hannah and the rest of his band.  
Hannah throws her arms around me, “There you are.”  
“Here I am.”  
“We’ve been looking for you everywhere.” She messes up my bangs.  
“We’ve been around.” Jack answers, and Zach punches him.  
“Around nowhere.” Corbyn pulls a face, “We’ve been everywhere.”  
“You ever think about checking your phone, bro?” Jonah gives him a look, making Jack mumble, “I forgot.”  
Daniel rolls his eyes, slinging an arm around his shoulders, “Come on, we’ve got to get back to the van.”

I have no idea where the last two hours have gone, but I wasn’t ready for this to be over.

 

  
I have three textbooks open on my bed when Hannah turns out the lights.  
“Hannah.”  
“It’s late.” She complains, and I can hear her getting into bed.  
“I wasn’t finished.”  
“You can do more tomorrow.”  
I sigh, shoving the books off my bed. “Why did I think taking this many hours was a good idea again?”  
“Because you wouldn’t listen to reason.” Hannah did try to talk me out of it, “You’re going to do great anyway.”  
“If I survive exams.” I pull the blankets up, covering my face.  
“You’ll survive.” I can hear Hannah turn over, the mattress springs squeaking, “And it’ll be better when you change your major.”  
“You know I can’t do that.” I groan.  
“You could.”  
I pull the blankets down, “I could destroy my dad.”  
“He’d forgive you.” She insists.  
“I don’t know, Hannah.”  
“He would. Promise you’ll talk to them about it?”  
The idea of that confrontation makes me want to hide under my bed, and never come out. “I’ll think about it.”  
“I want you to be happy.” Hannah whispers.  
“I know.” We've been having this discussion for months, ever since she found out what I planned to major in. It nearly always ends this way. Hannah's best intentions and mine are in opposition, forcing us into this painful gridlock because we're both trying to do the right thing.  
We’re quiet for a minute.

Then Hannah speaks up, “Good. So… What’s Jonah's deal?”  
I turn towards her, with the lights off I can barely see the shape of her face. “His deal with what?”  
“Eli.” She fluffs her pillow, “I know you were sketching, but you’re not oblivious.”

She’s right. I noticed, briefly, that Jonah looks at their choreographer with something the other guys don’t.

“Maybe he’s intimidated by her?” Hannah ponders, “She seems tough.”  
“I think she’s just pretty.” Eli seemed a little chilly, and hyper focused, but I could tell, none of those guys actual fear her.  
She hums, “Maybe, but he’s in love with Camila Cabello.”  
“I don’t know who that is.”  
Hannah sings a couple lines in the dark. She’s an awful singer, but I recognize it.  
“Oh, right… He’s not dating her though?”  
“No.” She answers like that was a ridiculous question. “He’s never met her.”  
“Celebrity crushes don’t compete with real people, Haz.” I have to remind her of this often.  
“Wouldn’t that be weird?” She muses, stretching her arms above her head, “She works for them.”  
“So?”  
“She, like, tours with them.”  
I almost want to ask how she knows that, but I decide against it. “Why does that matter?” With the lights off, I’m suddenly too tired for this conversation.  
“It doesn’t, exactly…”  
“Have you changed lanes or something?” I press. I’m about seventy percent sure that’s what she calls it when her favorite member changes.  
“No!” She moves again, “I’m definitely Daniel’s, I just… I’m jealous, I guess. They’re all over her.”  
I noticed that too. The other boys hang off her, touching her as casually as they do each other. They’re clearly comfortable with her, “She’s their friend. They treat her like a sister.”  
“Exactly.” Hannah snaps her fingers, “Except Jonah.”  
I shrug even though she can’t see it.  
“Speaking of all over…” I know where she’s going with this before she says it, “Where’d you and Jack disappear tonight? You were gone forever.”  
  
I’m really glad it’s dark, because I know I’m blushing. “Nowhere.”  
“Brooke.”  
“Hannah.”  
“Brookie.”  
“Hazza.”  
She laughs exasperated. “Fine, I know you’ll tell me eventually.”  
I know I will too. I tell her everything, but I want to keep this to myself for now.  
“I’m just glad you made a friend, Brookie.” Hannah reaches across the space between our beds, and I reach out to squeeze her hand.  
“Tell me about the Ferris Wheel?” I pull my arm back under my pillow, still facing her outline in the shadows.  
I fall asleep like that, still seeing neon, listening to Hannah gush about our day.

 

 

  
Jack.

We’re filming a Christmas video, even though it’s hardly fall, and still ridiculously hot in California. It’s almost seventy-five degrees today, and I’m wearing a wool coat, with a scarf.   
I’m grateful most of the shoot is indoors.

Brooke brought her backpack with us this morning, and camped out in a corner of the studio as soon as we arrived. She had pulled book after book out, as if her backpack was Mary Poppins’ purse, then buried her head in her notes. She hasn’t looked up once.   
Hannah shrugged it off, addressing our confusion with a single ‘Finals.’   
At least she’s been interested in the shoot, happy to listen to our new music, and help our stylist pick out clothes. It’s nice to get her feedback, instead of our management’s. We always have an abundance of male opinions, so it’s nice to have a real girl’s, a fan’s, and not someone we’re paying for.

Eli’s on location with us too, choreographing on camera and distracting Jonah off. They’re careful, but it’s still an unspoken band rule to keep an eye on him when she’s around. He gets caught up in her orbit, his actions speak volumes neither of them can afford.

Brooke disappears in the commotion of a full crew, and I don’t see her again until Daniel and I strip out of the winter clothes they’ve dressed us in, heading outside to skateboard on our break.   
I catch her eyes as I walk out, and gesture with my head towards the doors.   
She picks up the book she’s currently working in and follows me out wordlessly.

Daniel and I race around for a while, before he moves down to the other end of the parking lot to work out which tricks won’t destroy his electric board. Everyone else is still inside.  
I ride lazy circles, and feeling the weight of Brooke’s gaze on me.   
“Do you want a turn?”   
She’s sitting in the sun with her notes, pretending like she’s reading, but I’ve had her attention from the moment I started riding.   
She shrugs, “I’m not great.”  
“So?” I push my board her direction, “It’ll be good for you, move around some. Get your blood flowing. You can’t study forever.”   
She stops the board from rolling into her with one foot, then stands up, abandoning her work.

Brooke gets one foot on the board, already wobbling, “I lied,” Her grin might be shy, “I’m worse than not great. I have no idea how to do this.”   
I guessed that, since she’s put her right foot on it. I step closer to her, “You might want to start with your left foot.”   
She glances down, laughing. “Oops.”   
I smile watching her switch feet. “Now push with your right foot.”   
“I know that much.” Brooke tries, pushing off way to hard. She nearly falls down.  
I catch her without thinking, “Careful.” When she’s steady, I step back.  
She meets my eyes, “Do you think I’m trying to be reckless?”   
I lift my brows, and she shakes her hair out of her face. “I don’t actually want to break an arm.”  
I hold out my hands to her, “Why don’t you hold onto me for now?”  
She considers me before agreeing, “For now.”

Brooke’s hands are small, her palms warm against mine. Her nail polish is chipped, and there’s calluses on the fingers in her right hand where she holds her pen.

I don’t thumb over the back of her hand, but I think about it.

“Let’s go easy.”   
“That’s probably a good idea.” Brooke still has one foot on the ground.  
“Put both of your feet on the board.” She looks at me skeptically, so I explain, “So you know how it should feel.”  
She tries, pressing down on my hands when the board moves under her, her footing all wrong. “This doesn’t seem right.”   
“Nope.”   
She squints at me.  
“You need to,” I release her hands, dropping down in front of her. I steady her again, my hands on her ankles, “Move this foot.”   
She holds onto my shoulder, letting me move her feet into position.   
I didn’t necessarily need to fix her stance this way. I could have just shown her, but when I stand up slowly, I get to watch her bite her lip and revel in how close we are. She smells really good.

Daniel bails off his board, and it breaks the moment.   
I backup, taking her hands again. “Does that feel better?”   
“Maybe?”   
I’m not sure if we’re talking about the distance between us or her footing.  
I focus on getting her riding for now. I pull her forward a few yards, and the look she gives me is completely unimpressed. “Now, push off.”   
She picks up her foot.  
“Gently.” I rush out, “Gently push off.”  
“I’m not going to run you over.” Brooke rolls her eyes.  
“Well…”  
“I’m not!” She lets go of one hand to shove at my chest, while clinging to the other.  
“Go on then.” I smirk.

We keep at it for a while. Brooke squeezing my hand, moving short distances with great effort. She gets enough confidence to let go of me eventually, rolling slowing forward on her own.   
She’s still shaky as hell though.  
She’s a good sport about the whole thing, laughing nonstop. It’s kind of infectious. I can’t help laughing with her after her fifth solo attempt results in yet another near wipeout.

“We’re friends, right?” Brooke has both of her feet on the ground now, the skateboard abandoned, her hands on her hips.   
“Sure.”   
“So be honest with me? How bad am I?”   
“Terrible.” I smile at her, “Really, really bad.”   
“I thought we were friends.” She protests, fighting back her grin.   
“We are.” I nod solemnly her direction, “So it’s my duty to inform you, you’re awful at this.”   
She can’t fight her laugher then, her head tipped back exposing her face to the sun.

When Daniel stops his board next to us, we’re still laughing. “What’s so funny?”   
“Apparently, I’m hopeless at skateboarding.” Brooke kicks my board towards me.   
It knocks into my foot, and we only look at each other for a second, before bursting into laugher again. The look of utter confusion on Daniel’s face just fuels it.

It’s only when Zach calls for us to get back inside that we can rein it in.   
For the rest of the afternoon, all Brooke has to do is swing her foot, miming kicking off on a skateboard, and I’m laughing.

I like this girl. A lot.

 


	4. Math is My Comfort Zone

Brooke.

“So what’s all this stuff?” Jack drops into the chair next to me, surveying the table taken over by my reviewing. The guys have been filming all afternoon, but I think they're nearly finished.  
“Literature, Calculus, Geometry.” I point to the corresponding books. Nobody has asked me to move from where I unpacked out this morning, so I’ve arranged everything in columns by subject, index cards laid out on notes next to their corresponding books. Lake says there’s something wrong with the amount of joy that organization brings me, but perfectly aligned pencils, highlighters, and pens just make me happy.  
“You’re taking two maths?” Jack asks with the same inflection to his voice I imagine he’d have asking if I like hurting kittens.  
I set the notecard in my hand down. “Math is my comfort zone.”  
“Huh.” He picks up a page of my notes. I watch as his eyes scan the page, then stick on the sketch in the margin. “What’s this?”  
“Hearst Tower.” It’s a building I’ve drawn until my rendition could be a schematic. It’s one of the most architecturally interesting buildings in New York City to me, the traditional build of the original space, and the glass triangles making up the tower.  
“And that?” Jack grabs a second page.  
“Low Library.” It’s neither low, nor a library, and I’ve spent more time sketching the greek style building than I have inside any real library on campus.  
“And this one?” He points to another page from the stack of literature notes.  
“That’s Lincoln Center.” Eli startles me, “This is incredible.” I’d been so distracted by Jack, I hadn’t heard anyone else approach. Jonah’s by her side, both of them bend down to study my notes too.  
“I…” I never know what to say when people compliment me for this stuff, “Thank you.”  
“Of course.” Eli takes the page from the table to look closer, “You even got the glass correct. This is impressive, Brooke.”  
“You know the building?”  
“Sure,” Eli smiles, “Have you been inside?”  
I shake my head, “Not yet.”  
Jonah leans over Eli’s shoulder, his face practically against hers, “That’s where you performed in college?”  
She nods, “Attitude does events there too.” I think that’s the name of her studio, Attitude. Hannah told me to google it, but I haven’t had the time yet.  
“You went to Juilliard?” I squeak as I realize what Jonah's implied, although it’s not exactly surprising.  
“I did.” Eli confirms, while Jonah answers for her, “Dance and Piano.” There’s a certain degree of pride in his voice.  
Jack reaches behind us to do something that makes Jonah jerk, straightening up to stand inches away from Eli. She starts to speak, only to be interrupted by Daniel calling, “We’re done for the day.”  
“Thank God.” Jack tips his head back.  
“Let’s get this stuff off then we can head out.” Jonah tugs at his wool jacket, then offers Jack a hand to yank him up to standing.  
They start to walk away, following Daniel when Jack turns around, “You’re coming tonight, right, Elijah?”  
She delicately crinkles her nose, “What’s tonight?”  
Jack makes a face at Jonah, and Jonah answers, “We’re going to get pizza and hang out, before Brooke and Hannah have to be at the airport, if you want to come over for a while. I know Milo’s in town.”  
I don’t know who Milo is, or why his presence would have an impact on her plans.  
“You could bring him?” Jack suggests.  
“He had to catch an early flight this weekend. There was an incident.” Eli carefully sets my paper down in the proper category.  
Jonah frowns, “Is everything okay?”  
“Yes,” Eli tucks a fly away piece of her hair into her bun, “Everyone’s fine. He was just needed there.”  
Jonah relaxes, and Jack grins, “Okay, so you’ll come.”  
“I’ll make sure we order from somewhere good.” Jonah gives her the most earnestly hopefully expression.  
“Okay.” She dimples at him. The smile he gives her in return is hardly more than a straight line of his mouth, but his eyes are thrilled.  
“You know, if you’d actually pay up, I wouldn’t have to order the cheap stuff.” Jack shoves Jonah, as they walk away.  
Jonah gets him in a headlock, “How do you have to…” His voice drifting off.

“Are they always like that?” I turn to Eli.  
“Worse.” She crosses her arms over her chest, the effect ruined by the smile she’s still wearing, “Believe it or not, they’re on their best behavior for you.”  
Hannah joins us then, “Who’s on their best behavior?”  
Eli tilts her head the direction the band disappeared, “Those boys.”  
“Really?” Hannah starts packing my backpack with me, except her idea of helping is to shove everything inside, totally disregarding my meticulousness. She can’t pass up the opportunity to ask, “What’s their worst behavior like?”  
Eli laughs, “Twice as dirty and half as composed.”  
We laugh with her, Hannah going to press her for an explanation but doesn’t get the chance, because Eli gets called away by a manager across the room, and then she’s gone.

The next time we see her, we’re at the boys’ rental house. Hannah and I got the full tour, excluding their bedrooms, when we arrived. Now we’re sitting around the living room, trying to decide what to watch, waiting for dinner to arrive.  
Jack jumps up at the doorbell, Zach trailing after him. He opens the door to Eli, her hands hidden behind her, wearing an ancient looking Rolling Stones tee shirt hanging off her thin shoulder tucked into the front of her super skinny jeans, her hair in two french braids. She looks more stylish than I’ve ever been, and I can tell it’s utterly effortless.  
It’s hard not to hate her, just a little bit.  
“What did you bring me?” Zach reaches for her, making gimme motions with his hands.  
Eli stares him down, “Why would I bring you anything, Zachary Dean?”  
Zach playfully sulks, while Jack swoops in, sneaking behind Eli, to emerge with a plate in his hands. I get the feeling she let him take it.  
“The ones with no chocolate,” Eli starts, but Jack finishes for her, “are for Daniel, we know.”  
He rolls his eyes, and she pokes his stomach. “Why do I do sweet things for you, again?”  
Jack moves back laughing.  
Zach leans up to kiss Eli’s cheek, “Because we’re sweet.”  
Eli shakes her head, steering him into the living room, “You’re ridiculous.”  
“You like it.” He declares, and she pushes him away from her.  
Zach continues following her laughing too, and when she sits down on the sofa by Jonah, he sprawls out next to them, throwing his legs over her lap.  
Jonah drops an arm over the back of Eli’s seat, not quite touching her shoulder, and she taps her fingers on Zach’s knees while picking up a discussion with Corbyn.

Eli’s kind of icy, but she melts for these guys.  
I’m beginning to understand why.

Jack settles in next to me, still holding the plate. He pulls off the cling wrap, and shoves an entire orange rice crispy treat in his mouth. He catches me watching him after he’s done it, then blushes. He chews the giant mouthful, swallowing hard, before extending the plate to me, “They’re pumpkin spice.”  
I would assume that, since they’re shaped like pumpkins, and half covered in chocolate with fall colored sprinkles. I take one off the plate, with a semi-sarcastic, “Thank you.”  
It melts in my mouth, and I might accidentally moan.  
Jack’s cheeks stay pink, but he smirks, “Good, right?”  
“So good. Oh my god.” I can’t help it. I don’t even like pumpkin spice.  
Daniel scrambles up from his place on the loveseat next to Hannah, snatching the plate from Jack, “Gotta spread the love, bro.” He cackles when Jack starts to protest.  
The plate gets passed around the room, so by the time our pizza arrives, it’s almost empty.  
I've had three, but I'm not complaining when Jack nicks the last pumpkin from the plate, and offers me half.  
I open my mouth, mostly as a joke. I’m not laughing though, when Jack places the dessert on my tongue, his thumb catching on my bottom lip.  
I’m stuck staring in his eyes, both of us frozen, until someone coughs, breaking the spell.

 

 

Jack.

Brooke’s sitting across the table, picking at her pizza, pointedly not looking at me.  
It was an impulse to meet her daring gesture with action, and I’d gotten trapped in her eyes, so dark they’re nearly black, the depth in them drawing me in.  
Corbyn explained to me once that black holes in space are actually vacuums, virtually nothing can escape. Brooke’s eyes are like the most remarkable version of that.  
She might not be able to look at me now, but I can’t stop looking at her.

Hannah says something to her, and she straightens up, tucking her hair behind her ears. It would make her look softer, exposing more of her heart-shaped face, if her ears weren’t full of metal.  
“How many piercings do you have?” I lean in.  
“Um…” Brooke finally looks up from her food. “Five in one ear, three in the other.” She turns her head side to side for me to see. Her left ear has three studs in the lobe and two hoops in the cartilage, her right has one stud in the lobe, and two inside the shell.  
“What’s that called? The one in your ear?”  
“The rook?” Brooke reaches for it, “That one was the worst.”  
“It looks cool.” I grin at her, reaching for another slice of pizza.  
“It was almost worth it, except I still have trouble sleeping on that side,” She runs a finger behind her ear, “I want to get a tattoo here, but I’m too scared of the pain.”  
“It’s not that bad.” I wipe my hands on my jeans, pushing up my sleeves to show her my tattoos, “It only hurts when the needle is moving.”  
“I like the rose.”  
“It’s for my baby sister.”  
“Her name’s Rose?” Brooke spins her plate around.  
I nod, “Isla Rose.”  
“That’s a good name.” She picks the cheese off her pizza, eating it by itself.  
“I like it.”  
“I’d get a tattoo for my sister, but Lake says I shouldn’t add another permanent mark to my head.” She picks up a parmesan packet, ripping it open with her teeth.  
I study her face, “Another mark?” I can’t find any I’d call permanent, and I don’t think piercings count.  
Brooke pours the powdery cheese over the pizza crust on her plate, then cleans her hands off on a napkin, “It’s hard to see with my bangs,” She pushes them up out of the way with one palm.  
Her forehead is smooth, milky perfect skin like the rest of her face, but just above her eyebrow there’s a thin silver scar. It’s probably three inches long.  
“What happened to you?” Zach cottons on to what we’re talking about, sitting up in his chair next to me, staring at her forehead. His question is loud enough to get the attention of the rest of the table, and the apples of Brooke’s cheeks go red under all the scrutiny.  
Hannah turns to her, “I told you no one notices it if you didn’t expose it.”  
“You know how your parents always tell you not to jump on the bed?” Brooke looks at Zach.  
Zach drawls out, “Yes.”  
“Well, you should listen.” Brooke drops her bangs, “My sister and I didn’t. Our beds seemed like the right distance to jump back and forth, and she’s always been taller, so she made it across. I didn’t. My head spilt open on the metal bed-frame, and our dad passed out cold when I followed Lake screaming into the living room. Apparently, I was soaked in blood.”  
“The way Lake tells it,” Hannah continues, “He fainted like those goats do,” She demonstrates with her hand, “Head wounds bleed the worst.”  
“Jeez.” Daniel rubs at his own forehead, “That had to hurt.”  
“I got, like, fifty stitches,” Brooke lifts her shoulders, “but I don’t remember most of it. We were four. My only real memory of it is how gross Lake thought having the stitches pulled out was.”  
“Lake blames herself for it.” Hannah takes a bite of her pizza.  
Brooke huffs, “It’s stupid. If my scar is her fault, hers is definitely mine.”  
“Why?” I have to ask.  
“I hit a tree on my bike, with Lake sitting on the handlebars,” She gestures towards her elbow, “It broke her arm, she had to get pins and everything."  
“You were nine, and it wasn’t her dominate hand.” Hannah defends.  
Brooke folds her pizza, “My point stands, if she’s responsible, so I am, and at least I can cover mine up.”  
“Everyone has scars though.” Daniel muses, “You should see…”  
The conversation moves away from Brooke, everyone down the table telling their own horror stories, showing off their battle marks, but my focus stays on her.

It occurs to me that I want know all of her scars.  
That’s a terrible idea, for a whole bunch of obvious reasons.  
The most critical of which being she’s leaving.  
Tonight.  
And her home is on the opposite coast.

Maybe it’s because I know she’s leaving I get bold, manipulating myself into the seat next to Brooke in the sprinter on the ride to the airport, glaring the rest of the guys out of the last row.  
We collected their bags from the hotel after dinner, and Brooke came back downstairs in pajamas. They’re pink, and covered in dinosaurs, half tucked into her boots.  
She’s so cute.

Traffic in Los Angeles is slightly better on Sundays, not as insane as the rest of the week, so the ride goes quickly. Brooke hasn’t said much, mostly stared out the window, picking at the polish flaking off her nails.  
“Is this a direct flight back for you?” I ask her quietly.  
“No,” She turns my direction, “We have a layover in Atlanta, then separate flights home. I’m on my own for the last couple of hours.”  
That makes sense, Brooke had mentioned Hannah lived in a different state for college. “Do you do alright flying?”  
Her eyes narrow in question.  
“Like, because you’re afraid of heights?”  
“Oh. Yeah, I hate flying.” She drops her hands, “I try for isle seats, and never look out the window, but it’s still miserable.”  
“Is it better in the clouds? That’s my favorite part of flying.” Looking out the window makes the experience, otherwise it’s just a more cramped, marginally more convenient travel method.  
She shakes her head, “No.”  
“But you can’t see how high up you are then.” I encourage.  
“Nope,” She pops. “Humans aren’t meant to see the world from that angle.”  
I laugh, “How would you know that?”  
“Because, there’s all this perfectly safe ground beneath us.” She blows out a breath, “I know it’s silly, but I’ve always been scared, and planes are almost worse. I understand the science that keeps them in the air, but it feels like there’s nothing keeping them from falling out of the sky, and I’ve never liked that.”  
“Falling?”  
“Terrifies me.” Brooke confrims.  
“What about as a kid? Didn’t you like being thrown up in the air? I thought everyone liked that.”  
“I hated it,” She insists. “Even as a baby, I would lose it if someone lifted me over their head.”  
“I loved it.” My phone buzzes in my pocket. I fish it out, smiling at the screen.  
Brooke starts to turn away, but I show her the screen. “That’s my mom, and Isla.”  
They’re making the same face, tongues out and eyes crossed. It makes Brooke smile.  
The guys give me crap for how much I talk to my mom, but she’s my backbone. For a while, she was everything I had, and even with my sisters and a really great stepdad, I’m still a mama’s boy deep down.  
“She’s adorable.” She points to my sister. “Do your other siblings look like you too?”  
“I only have sisters, but…” I open photos and choose a picture of Sydnie and I, then hand her my phone, “Syd is the oldest, we look the most alike.”  
“Wow.” Brooke zooms in. “I love her hair.”  
I grin. “I’ll tell her you said that. I think it suits her.” It’s pink, and a little punk rock with her nose ring, but she’s edgy enough to pull it off.  
“It does.” She agrees.  
“You can scroll.” It’s mostly picture of me and the guys, or my family. I don’t keep anything I’d be more than mildly embarrassed about the world seeing on my phone, I’m too paranoid of losing it.  
Zach distracts me with a question about the next tour, but Brooke keeps my phone until we get to the airport. I think I see her typing as we turn into departures, and I hope she’s leaving me with her number.

At the doors, we climb out and everyone hugs. I get Brooke last, taking my phone back and holding her for a second longer than I would anyone else.  
She steps back first, to heft her duffle over her shoulder, smiling at me as she pulls Hannah away.  
Then she’s gone.

In the van returning to our house, I check my phone for her number, but there’s nothing new in my contacts. I read all my notes, but she hasn’t written anything there. I check my email and instagram, but those haven’t changed either. Twitter is empty too.  
She hasn’t left anything at all.

I’m disappointed, but I try to hide it. Brooke had my phone, if she wanted me to have her number she would have given it to me. It was a fun weekend, but we’re both busy. It’s probably for the best.

My face must show how much I don’t really think that though. We’re hardly in the door when Daniel’s offering video games, and Jonah’s slinging an arm over my shoulder. Zach and Corbyn are especially absurd for the rest of the night too. They force me into a lighter mood.

I don’t have Brooke, but at least I have these idiots.


	5. Funny, Not Stupid

Brooke.

  
The airport in Atlanta is massive. Hannah and I are standing in the center of the madness, saying our goodbyes. Our connecting flights are in different terminals, and this is the last time I’ll see her before Christmas. We're failing at trying not to cry in front of the TSA.   
“That was fun, right?” Hannah kicks at her bag by our feet.  
“No. I hated it.” I deadpan, hoping humor will stop the tears.   
“I told you they were awesome.”  
“They were alright.”  
She laughs, hauling me in for a hug. “I’ll miss you.”  
“I’ll miss you too.” I get her hair in my mouth, “You’re crushing my spleen.”  
“Please, you don’t even know where your spleen is.” She leans back to look at me, “Take care of yourself, Bee.”  
“I will.”  
“I mean it.”  
“I know.” I hug her again. “Pray for me, I have to call my parents when I land.”  
Hannah laughs, loudly, “I still think you should have told them before we left.”  
“Because you still think Mr. and Mrs. Bailey are generous and kind people. I know the truth... If I don't live to Christmas, you can have my presents.”  
She pokes my sternum before pulling up the handle of her bag, “Be nice to my favorite parents. They only want the best for us.”  
I roll my eyes, “Bye, Hazza.”  
“Bye, Brookie.” She calls, sashaying away. “Love you!”  
“I love you too!” I yell back, getting more than a few weird looks.

Hannah is the thing I miss most about home.  
She makes me laugh until it hurts, no matter how long we’re apart, one minute together and the world is lighter. Life is so much funnier with her.  
I miss her everyday presence the way a child would a favorite stuffed animal. I watch her red hair vanish into the crowd, then force my feet the direction of my gate, instead of trailing behind her the way I want to.

 

The bus ride from LaGuardia airport to the upper west side is strangely relaxing. I guess anything would be, after the anxiety of flying by myself, but watching the city pass outside my window feels almost like meditation. They’ve already started putting Christmas lights up in Harlem, and it makes me smile.  
I pull the stop wire at Columbia, shivering in my hoodie as I climb down from the bus into the freezing weather, dragging my duffle behind me. It bumps the ground up the street and into my dorm, as I fumble through security, and onto the elevator. I’m too tired to take the stairs tonight. The florescent lights in the hallway make my head pound. I'm desperate for the dark and my own bed as I unlock my door.   
I’m expecting my sister to be in our room. I sent her a text message hours ago with my estimated arrival time, and it’s early Monday morning. I would be worried if she wasn’t in her bed.  
I am not, however, expecting the other girl there.  
As the light from the hall illuminates them, I can see their intertwined figures under the sheets. Lake’s long dark hair is tangled with the girl’s lighter brown on her pillow, someone's bare shoulder is peeking out from under the blanket.  
I drop my bag, mostly on accident. The bang of it hitting the tile startles me, and jerks them both awake. Lake springs up to sitting, the other girl pulls the blanket over herself.  
I abandon my bag, turning around to walk away before I realize what I’m doing.  
“Brooke.” I’m almost at the end of the hall when I hear Lake’s footsteps running after me.  
I pull the door open to the stairwell without stopping.  
“Brooke.” Lake’s catches me as I reach the steps, taking my elbow to still me. I glance at her, catching her haphazardly tossed on clothes and the shadows under her eyes.  
I shake her off to sit down on the stairs.  
My mouth is dry. My jaw feels like it’s been wired shut. I can’t speak.  
I don’t even know what I would say.  
There’s a lot I haven’t told her.  
There are so many things I can’t find the words for either, but that she didn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t, tell me this, burns.

“Brooke.” She croaks, her voice breaking at the end.  
“Lake.” I answer her, the same frog in my throat.  
“I didn’t think you’d be back yet.”  
“I texted you hours ago.” If the bus would have been on time, I would have gotten back even sooner. I don’t think about what I could have walked in on. There are some things you never want to see your sister doing.  
“I was going to tell you.” Lake lays her head down on my shoulder.  
“Were you?” I stare directly at the cinderblock wall in front of us.  
“Yes.”  
“When? When I walked in on something else? When you told Mom and Dad? When you got married?” There’s an edge to my tone that makes her flinch.  
“Brooke.”  
I know I’m being unfair. I’m not usually irrational, but I didn’t expect this.  
Lake’s had more boyfriends than I have.  
I’m surprised, and hurt that she hasn’t shared this with me, “Well?”  
“It’s new.” She mumbles.

  
Her timidness squashes my anger. She sounds as confused as I am.  
It’s so unlike her.  
Lake dives straight into everything.  
When I’m still dipping my toes in the water, she’s always the first one in.

  
I don’t want my reaction to make her question this. I’m upset she didn’t tell me, not about who she chose.  
In the seconds between the light shining on her, and my bag landing on the floor, Lake was smiling in her sleep.  
I lay my head down on top of hers, breathing her in. There’s no one on earth as familiar to me as she is. It’s her face I search for first in every crowd, I could pick her out of any line up. I know her even in the dark; for all our differences, we still wear the same perfume. “What’s her name?”  
“Sara.” Lake says it with a warmth I’ve never heard before.  
“I love you, Lake, like, no matter what.” I whisper into her hair.  
“I love you too.” Her voice is hardly louder than mine.  
“But I’m exhausted.” There are conversations we should have, but not tonight.  
Lake understands this code, “You want me to kick her out.”  
“God, yes.” I sigh.  
She laughs, and when she sits up I can see her eyes are wet. “Okay.”  
“I want to meet her.”  
“Now?”  
I shake my head, “I just got off a plane. I wouldn’t subject anyone but you to that.”  
She grins, “Yeah, thanks.”  
I poke at her, and she stands up. “I’m going to walk her back to her dorm.”  
“Okay.”  
“I’ll see you later?” Lake pulls the stairwell door open.  
“I’m not going anywhere.”  
“Okay.” She steps into the hallway, then turns back, “You had a good time, in California?”  
“I did.”  
She nods, “We’ll talk more later.”  
“Yeah. We’ll talk more later.”  
There is so much more we need to say, but for now I give her five minutes before stumbling back to our room, toeing my boots off and falling into bed.  
I’m sleep before the door clicks shut.

 

 

Jack.

Three days. It’s been three days since we dropped the girls off at the airport, and I can’t quit thinking about Brooke.

We’re given a break at rehearsals, the band wandering off in search of water, when I take my phone out to open the group picture we took again. I keep questioning if she’s really cute enough to justify my obsession.  
She is.   
In the picture, she’s standing between me and Hannah. Her hair is so dark it’s almost blue in the sun, her dark eyeliner and perfect white teeth on display. I like the way her black jeans fit, and the daisies on her grey tee shirt. Her little black Doc Marten’s crossed over each other make me want to see what they’d look like thrown off next to mine.   
She’s not tiny, not nearly as skinny as Eli, or Christina, but not as curvy as Hannah is either.   
Brooke’s just as hot as I remember.   
She’s sort of exactly my type. It’s no wonder I can’t get her out of my head.

“Just text her.” Corbyn punches my shoulder.   
“I don’t have her number,” I grumble, rubbing at the spot where he hit me.  
“What’s that?” He leans in.  
“I don’t have her number.” I repeat, clenching my teeth.   
He laughs, clearly enjoying my pain, “Why not?”   
“She didn’t give it to me.”   
“Did you ask?”   
“I…” I shrug, “Not, like, directly. I gave her my phone, and I thought she’d do that thing, you know, that girls do…?” I trail off.   
Usually, when fans get ahold of our phones, they either add their numbers, or text themselves so they have ours. I figured if Brooke wanted me to have hers, she’d leave it, but Corbyn’s looking at me like I’m stupid. I'm glad I didn't admit to trying to find Brooke on instagram. There were no public profiles which seemed like her, and I’m smart enough not to follow random private pages looking for her. Corbyn pats the shoulder he hasn’t abused, “You idiot.”   
I can tell he’s biting down a laugh.   
“Just DM Hannah and ask for it. We have her twitter.”   
“Isn’t that, like, stalking?”   
“No, bro.” Corbyn laughs again, “If you’re going to be stupid about a girl, you better take the chance.”   
It’s easy for him to say. He’s been with Christina for longer than we’ve been a band, and they’re actually happy. He doesn’t know anything about dating someone new with how insane our life is right now. “I guess…”  
“When have I ever steered you wrong?”   
Daniel joins us then, tossing me a water bottle.   
I catch it, glaring at Corbyn, “Uh, last night?”  
He sputters. “How was I supposed to know what Eli’d make us do to today, man?” He catches Jonah’s eye as he comes back into the room, “Hey! Did you know your girl was gonna make us jump around all morning when we were eating carbs at midnight?”  
Jonah’s face plays a complicated array of emotions. In private, he doesn’t care when we use possessives talking about them, but her studio is this weird space between private and public. I can read his face go from happy to be connected to her, to stone faced about that being too personal to say here. “You’ve got the biggest freaking mouth,” He dodges the question, grabbing Corbyn to mess up his hair.  
“I’m sorry!” Corbyn squeals when Jonah goes for his sides.   
Daniel tries to intervene after a minute, but somehow all five us of get drawn into the fight. We’re rolling around on the floor tangled up yelling and laughing uncontrollably when Eli walks back into the room.   
“This is why I can’t leave you alone for five minutes,” She rubs at her forehead, looking us over expressionless, at least until Zach snags her around her waist, pulling her into the fray, making her yelp and laugh too.   
Eli might be Jonah’s girl, but we all love that woman.   
She gets us back to work too quickly, and I go back to trying not to puke as Eli asks us to jump, again, and again, and again.   
Stupid Corbyn and his dumbass ideas. Who orders fettuccine alfredo at midnight, anyway?

I text Christina hours later when I’m by myself in my room. I want Corbyn to be right about asking Hannah for Brooke’s number, but I know the majority of his good ideas are actually her’s. Christina is also like seventy-five percent of his impulse control, and all of his common sense.

‘How weird is it to DM a girl for her friend’s number?’

‘Is this about Brooke?’

‘Corbyn’

‘We talk.’

‘She didn’t give it to you?’

‘Why can’t you just DM her?’

‘I didn’t think I needed to ask.’

‘And I can’t find her twitter.’

‘I’ll look.’

‘What’s her last name?’

‘I don’t know’

‘Where is she from?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Somewhere in North Carolina?’

‘Well.’

‘What do you know?’

’Not much? That’s why I need your help.’   
I send her a picture of me pouting, and she responds with one of her middle finger.   
‘She goes to Columbia. I think she’s in a Math major.’

‘Math?’

‘And she’s into you?’

‘Why did I think you’d be any help?’

 

 

Corbyn barges into my room then, holding his phone in from of him, “He’s right here!” 

He’s grinning stupidly smug, so I know it’s Christina on the other end of that call.   
“Hi Christina.”  
“Hi Jack. Corbyn, give him the phone.”   
Corbyn frowns, but does as he’s told, “I told him it was a good idea.”  
Christina’s on the screen, in her dorm room wearing a hoodie Corbyn lost a couple weeks ago, “I think there might be a more direct way.”  
“What?” I raise a brow.   
“Have you searched Hannah’s followers? Brooke’s kinda a unique name."  
“I hadn’t even thought of that.” I set Corbyn’s phone down, to pull up twitter on mine. On Hannah’s page, it’s easy to search her following for Brookes, and there’s only three. Corbyn throws himself down on the bed beside me, watching Christina and I play detective.   
“I’m seeing three.” Christina confirms on her end.  
The first one is a fan account, and the second is owned by some blonde girl. My Brooke is the last one listed, her page nearly empty.   
“Is that her? Brooke Bailey?” Christina leans over for a closer look at something, she must be face timing from her computer.   
“That’s her.” Corbyn confirms, looking at my phone over my shoulder.   
Brooke’s account has liked a few of Hannah’s tweets, and a few that I think belong to her sister. There has to be even fewer Lake Baileys in the world than Brookes.   
Her only tweets are pictures of art, her intricate drawings of buildings and a few landscapes of places I’ve never been to.   
“She is cute.” Christina grins, looking into the camera. I stick my tongue out at her.   
“Click that.” Corbyn pokes at my phone, doing it himself.  
He opens her profile picture which is mostly white marble stairs leading up to a massive building. There’s a sliver of her in the frame, half of her smile, and the blunt edge of her hair.   
“She’s prettier in person.” I palm my face after it’s left my mouth. I didn’t mean to say it aloud.   
Christina snorts, and Corbyn laughs so hard he nearly falls out of the bed.   
I give him a push, sending him to the floor. He springs back up still laughing, “So.”  
“What are you going to say?” Christina finishes for him. “You need something good.”   
“I don’t know…” I click around her page, until what Christina said sinks in, “Wait. Why?”   
“Because,” Christina stares into the camera, “You didn’t get her number the first time. You had to have fucked that up somehow. You need to do better.”   
“Like what? I thought it was going well.” I look towards the ceiling.  
“Well…” Christina looks at me with pity. Corbyn is really enjoying my suffering, but he manages to say quiet for now.  
“Just be funny. You know, but not stupid.”  
“Funny, not stupid.” I repeat.   
“That might be too much to ask, Babe.” Corbyn taps my leg, taking the sting out of his putdown.   
Eighteen months ago, I wasn’t this psychically comfortable with the guys, but being in a band, living together away from our homes, has made us family. We’re always in each other’s space, but now it puts me at ease. Nothing’s too cruel when it’s said by someone comfortable in your bubble.   
“Thanks, Corb.” I knock my head against his.   
He grimaces, pulling away, “Ow!”  
“Watch my merchandise.” Christina calls.  
“I don’t hit anywhere near the goods.” I tell her, laughing almost too hard to say it.   
“Well… Okay then.”   
“Hey! There’s good here too.” Corbyn points at his head, and none of us can keep a straight face.   
When we finally get it together, Corbyn takes his phone and thus Christina away, leaving me to figure out what to say on my own.  
I open messages, and let the screen blink at me for several long minutes while I stare.   
The dating game has never been my strong suit; I couldn’t say when the last time I pursued someone was. My relationships have never been deliberate, I've always stumbled into them.  That might be why Brooke makes me nervous.

I look at her picture in miniature, wondering where it was taken and why that building is important enough to be the focus, before deciding on, ‘You didn’t give me your number’, hoping she’ll get the joke.   
I want to ask her those questions, not wonder about them.

I check my phone compulsively during morning rehearsals, until Eli threatens to remove it from me. She says it pleasantly, like it’s a request, but I know better. Eli doesn’t ask for things, she demands them. She might have said, ‘Please pay attention, Jack’, but what she meant was, ‘Put your damn phone away, or I’ll do it for you.’  
I’m so relieved when it vibrates with a text from an unknown number that I forget about her command. I smile hard enough as I read it that even Daniel looks at me like I’ve lost it.   
I miss the next several steps, and Eli’s suddenly in front of me, “Jack.”  
“Shit. Sorry, E.” I recoil. “I…”   
Eli holds out her hand. I place my phone in it without arguing, but I’m distracted for the rest of our practice anyway, thinking about Brooke’s message.

It’s just one line of text.

‘You didn’t ask.’

I can practically see her smirk from here.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	6. Anything to Red Hot Chili Peppers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Formatting note:
> 
> Text messages used in this work are organized like iMessages  
> Messages appear in '...'  
> Those on the right belong to the person whose perspective the story is being told from (underlined portions of this work are Jack's point of view), those on the left belong to whomever they're texting  
> (Primarily sent between Brooke and Jack)
> 
> Open to suggestions if this is super confusing!  
> Thanks for reading :)

Brooke.

  
I’ve been chewing my fingernails between minor freak-outs about texting Jack from the moment after I did it. I only realized when I hit send that texting him instead of just messaging him back on twitter comes off like I’m a crazy stalker.  
I don’t know where he is now, which is actually comforting. He could be anywhere.  
It might have been the middle of the night for him when I sent that, or he might still be in Los Angeles, ignoring the crazy girl.

We didn’t talk about what would happen after the weekend we were together. I didn’t really think I’d ever speak to him again.  
I’m braving the cold, walking with my head down, when my phone lights up in my hand and I can breathe again, more relieved than I’d ever admit that I haven’t scared him off.

‘I don’t remember giving you mine.’

 

I didn’t set out to memorize his number, and I honestly didn’t have any intention of using it after I had.

‘I told you I was good with numbers.’

Phone numbers come especially easily to me; the rolodex in my head is full of pointless ones.  
It wasn’t a decision to memorize Jack’s, but I saw it, and I just didn’t want to forget.  
I never expected him to look for me.  
He’s busy.  
It was cool spending time with him last weekend, but it wouldn’t have hurt my feelings not to hear from him again.  
Or: it might have hurt, if I had given him my number and he hadn’t done anything with it, so I stomped that out before it could bite me. 

‘Memorize phone numbers instantly good?’

I send him back the ten digits for the pizza place he’d ordered from on Sunday.

‘Damn. That’s impressive.’

‘It’s really not.’  
‘It’s my second most useless skill.’  
‘After napping.’

‘How is napping useless?’

‘I had class at one and four today, and I fell asleep in the hall waiting.’  
‘Sitting up.’  
‘Against the wall.’  
‘Outside the door.’  
‘And then I was still ten minutes late, because I slept right through everyone walking in.’

‘That’s ridiculous.’  
‘Do you do that a lot?’

‘I can sleep anywhere.’  
‘I know it’s weird.’

‘It’s not that weird.’

‘It’s a little weird.’  
‘Why’d you DM me?’

‘I was thinking about you’  
‘Is that okay?’

‘I memorized your phone number’  
‘Is that okay?’

‘Yes.’  
‘I’m flattered.’  
‘Me and Pizzana.’

‘It was really good pizza.’

‘You hardly ate any.’

‘The rice crispy treats were better.’

‘True.’  
‘... So Brooke Bailey.’

‘It’s actually worse, if you can believe that...’  
‘My middle name is Bell.’

‘Brooke Bell Bailey.’  
‘BBB’  
‘That’s cool.’

‘I’m actually rolling my eyes.’

‘No.’  
‘I like it.’  
‘It suits you.’

‘Could’ve been Bluebell, so…’

 

  
Somehow we fall into a routine. It’s not a conscious decision, at least not on my part, but every time Jack texts me, I text him back. We keep it up for days, a near constant stream of messages every time I’m awake.

 

 

‘I’m frozen.’  
‘I can’t feel my toes.’  
‘Or my fingers.’  
‘Who thought snow was a good idea anyway?’

‘I like it.’  
‘I miss it.’  
‘It’s still like summer in CA.’

‘You can have it.’  
‘I’d take summer all year round, happily, thanks.’

‘Can’t handle a little cold, Bee?’

  
‘It’s not just the cold.’  
‘It’s the wind.’  
‘I don’t even know how it’s so windy.’  
‘There’s buildings everywhere, but every street is basically a wind tunnel.’  
‘Of freezing arctic awfulness.’

‘You poor thing.’  
‘At least it feels like Christmas?’

‘That’ll be a great consolation when I lose my fingers to frostbite.’  
‘And I have to survive Thanksgiving with my family first…’

‘I bet you wear shorts all winter.’  
‘Even when it’s frozen.’

‘Guilty.’  
‘How’d you guess?’

‘You’re the type.’  
‘The guys in my high school did that.’  
‘Wore flip-flops in the snow too.’  
‘The idiots.’

‘Everyone I grew up with did too.’  
‘If it snows where you grew up, how are you so bad at it?’

I send him a picture of my face, half hidden in the fake fur hood of my down jacket. My nose is red, and my glasses half fogged.  
‘There is no cold like NYC cold.’

 

 

 

‘What’s your favorite part of a movie?’

‘Like what’s my favorite scene?’

‘Nope.’  
‘Like, what makes an okay movie into a really good movie to you?’

‘…Is it a too much of a cliche if I say the music?’  
‘A killer soundtrack can make a movie for me.’

‘I don’t think that’s cliche.’  
‘The wrong song can ruin a moment.’

‘A fight scene to John Legend.’

‘A car chase to Sam Smith.’

‘A breakup to Sam Cooke.’

‘A meet-cute to Green Day.’

‘A funeral to Jack Johnson.’

‘A love scene to Red Hot Chili Peppers.’

‘Anything to Red Hot Chili Peppers.’

I laugh so hard the man in the business suit next to me on the subway turns to stare. Jack makes me laugh more through text message than anyone I see in my real life.  
‘So true.’

 

 

 

 

  
‘What’s your favorite time of day?’

‘Dusk.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes.’  
‘Really.’  
‘Why?’  
‘Did you think I’d say dark?

‘Maybe.’  
‘You’re always up too late.’

‘I’m going to blame my course schedule for that.’  
‘I got all the weird times.’  
‘But I like sunsets.’  
‘Especially the good ones, when the sky goes red, and everything looks black against it.’  
‘I love that.’

‘That happens at sunrise too.’

‘But I never see those.’  
‘Too early.’

‘I’d like to see fewer, to be honest.’

‘You should make that your resolution.’  
‘For the New Year.’

‘See less sunrises?’  
‘That sounds like an anti-resolution.’

‘I’d argue it’s an accomplishable one.’

‘Except I have zero control over my own schedule.’  
‘We don’t even get a say in what time Lights Out is.’

‘So you have a bedtime.’  
‘At eighteen.’

‘Yes…’

Jack sends me a picture of his profile, half asleep on a hotel room duvet, his tongue sticking out.  
He looks so good.  
Exhausted with dark circles under his eyes, but happy, and so good.

  
‘Promise you won’t tell?’

‘Never.’  
‘I don’t want to share this with anyone else.’

‘Me either.’

 

 

 

Somedays I feel like we’re just playing an unspoken game of twenty questions, and I don’t ever ask the ones I’m most interested in the answers to.   
Then he sends me something like that, and I think I’m getting all the answers I want anyway.

 

 

 

 

 

Jack.

The first time I FaceTime Brooke, I’m alone in a hotel room bored out of my mind. Corbyn's off somewhere, so I've got the room to myself, and absolutely nothing I want to do.  
It’s too early to fall asleep, and too late to adventure out.  
She answers on the second ring, which is surprising. The girl’s always busy.

Brooke’s voice comes through after the call connects, but she’s not in frame. There’s a wall, part of a cluttered desk, and a chair on camera, but she sounds like she’s on the other side of a room, “I told you I have to study! Only call me if there’s emergency, and I swear to God, Haz, this cannot possibly be an emergency. We were on the phone five minutes ago!”  
I can hear things being moved around, there’s banging and maybe papers shuffling, before Brooke comes into frame. She’s wearing a tank top, with her hair pulled back into tiny side pigtails.

  
She’s so fucking cute.

  
“Hi.”  
Her mouth drops open, “You’re not Hannah.” Her voice is kinda high.  
“Nope.” I smile, “Not Hannah.”

  
Brooke makes a face, then seems to realize what she’s wearing, jerking herself out of her surprise to quickly cross her arms over her chest. She blinks, then swipes a hoodie off the back of the chair, to yank down over her head.

  
“Is that your dorm?”  
She nods when she’s covered up, reaching for her laptop. She spins me around, showing off the room, “That’s Lake’s side.”  
Their walls are cinderblock painted white, but they have Christmas lights hanging from the ceiling and matching bedding. The pictures on the wall are too far away to see, but the whole effect is pretty cosy.  
Brooke’s sister’s side of the room is significantly dirtier than hers. That bed isn’t made, and there’s splashes of color all over the wall. “Were the walls like that when you moved in?”  
“Nope.” Brooke sets the computer down on what I’m guessing is her bed. “She’s a mess, and likes to work on the wall. It gets everywhere.” She climbs up on the bed after her laptop, laying down on her stomach, her head pillowed on her hands. I can barely make out something obnoxiously pink up in the corner by her pillows.  
“You kept him.”  
“What?”  
“The dragon.”  
“Oh.” She blushes, bending around to reach for it, jostling the camera. “Haku.”  
I grin at her for a minute, then I catch bars in the window behind her and can’t stop myself from asking, “Why do you have prison windows?”  
Brooke tucks the stuffed animal under her chin. “A kid went out one, a couple years ago, landed down on Broadway. Now they’re all concerned, you know.”  
“I don’t know.” I assure her, “I’ve never been in a school so hard they’d assume you’d rather jump out a window.”  
She laughs, rolling her eyes, “It’s not like that. It’s a precaution, I think it only happened the once.”  
“Once is more than enough.”  
Brooke shakes her head still smiling, “Would you go to college? If music didn’t work out?”  
I don’t have an answer for that question. I’ve really never thought about it, “When I would have been applying to colleges, I was already living out in Los Angeles with the guys, doing High School online. I think maybe…” I trail off, considering, “I think I would’ve, but my sister dropped out, so I’m not sure I would have stayed in…”  
“Yeah.” Brooke smirks, “I’m not sure I see you in the Ivy League.”  
I laugh, “Mean.”  
“You like it.”  
God help me, I do. “Did you always want to go to Columbia?”  
“Not going wasn’t an option for me.” Brooke looks at something out of frame, “It’s always been Columbia or bust, from the time I was born. I came on my first school visit when I was, like, four. This is my dad’s alma mater.”  
“That’s cool.”  
“I guess.” She looks back to me, “I almost didn’t get in.”  
“Really?”  
Brooke nods, “Only my sister did, in the first round, and I never even had an alternative.”  
“You didn’t apply anywhere else?” I didn’t apply to college, but even I know that you’re supposed to apply to more than one.  
“Nope.” Her smile seems flat now, “Like I said, Columbia or bust.”  
“That’s a lot of pressure.”  
“It worked out.” She lifts her shoulders, “But it was an awful couple of weeks while I was on the waitlist.”  
“I bet…” I pick at the ripped strings at the knee of my jeans. “What are you going to major in? You didn’t really give Jonah a straight answer, and Hannah seemed to think it was bad.”  
“Engineering.” Brooke tucks her chin down, mumbling the word against the dragon.  
“Whoa.”  
“Yeah.” Her face is still against the stuffed animal. “My Dad’s has a chemical engineer. He has a PhD and everything.”  
“So he wants you to do what he did.”  
She nods.  
“That seems harsh, if it’s not what you want.” I frown. I’m sure my parents would have been happy if I had decided on a more solid career, but they’ve never tried to discourage me. My mom's my number one fan.  
“He’s actually the less strict one, out of my parents...” She huffs, “My mom is still mad at me for going to Los Angeles. She made me turn on location tracking for my phone, so she’ll always be able to find me.”  
“But nothing happened.” She's been safe back at her college for days.  
“Of course, nothing happened. Nothing bad was ever going to happen, but I knew she’d be a mess when she found out I was going, so I didn’t tell her until I got back to school.”  
I lift my brow, “Maybe that was the wrong decision? I couldn’t keep anything from my mom.”  
“Potentially, it might have been easier to tell her before I left, but it also could have been more difficult.” She lifts her head back up, “But it’s already done, and I didn’t want to take the chance I wouldn’t have been able to go.”  
“I’m glad you came, even if your mom is creeping on you now.”  
“Me too.”  
We grin at each other stupidly for a minute.  
“So if your dad isn’t the hard one, why are you letting him pick your major?”  
“Lake’s a Fine Arts major.”  
I might have guessed that from the paint on the walls. “What’s that got to do with you?”  
“It’s just us, in our family. We don’t have any other siblings. I guess after twins I wouldn’t want more kids either, but…”  
“All of your Dad’s hopes and dreams are on you.”  
“Exactly.”  
“How’d your sister get away with doing her own thing then?”  
“Lake’s…” Brooke smirks, “Lake is, what I’m very generously going to call, independent.”  
“She doesn’t care about expectations?” That seems to be what she’s implying.  
“More like she told him exactly where he could shove his expectations.”  
I wince, “And that made it harder on you.”  
“Of course it did.” Brooke doesn’t look too upset about it, but she’s not looking at me any more either. “I’m closer to Dad too. I don’t want to disappoint him.”  
“And what you actually want to do, would?”  
“I don’t know.” She whispers.  
“It’s architecture, right?” Her eyes snap to me. “What you’d pick to major in, it’s architecture.”   
Brooke’s eyes are a little wide behind the frame of her glasses, “How did you know that?”  
“You’re always drawing buildings, Brooke. It’s not exactly rocket science…”  
She looks almost bashful.  
“Don’t be embarrassed. You’re really really good.”  
The smile she gives me is small, but it’s so genuine I feel my cheeks heat up.  
“It’s true.”  
Brooke bites at her lip, “I would do architecture, if it was only up to me, but it isn’t, and there’s no guarantees I’d even make it into that program.”  
I don’t have to hesitate, “Sure you would.” Brooke is insanely smart. When she sends me pictures of her notes, usually to show me her sketches in the margins, I try to understand the work, but most of the time even Corbyn can’t grasp what she does. She told me math was her comfort zone, and she meant it.   
“Columbia’s one of the most competitive schools in the nation, and their architecture program is one of the best in the world, if not the best.”  
“Well,” I run a hand through my curls, “You’re there, aren’t you? So you’re the best.”  
“I just confessed I got waitlisted.”  
“But you did get in.”  
“Eventually.” She sighs, jokingly exasperated.  
“It still counts,” I decide. “Have you tried running it past him? He might surprise you.”  
“You’ve never meet Mr. Bailey.”  
“Not the surprising type?”  
“Not even a little.” She rolls over, tipping her head back to look at me upside-down. “My dad has taken the same thing for lunch every single day of my entire life.”  
“That doesn’t mean he couldn’t surprise you now.”  
“No.” She turns back over, “But it does make it highly unlikely.”  
“Fair enough.”  
Brooke’s phone buzzes with something that makes her smile, then she launches into a story about how she found out about her sister’s girlfriend, and the minor snafu that was.

She's sweet about it, in a way. I don't know much about her twin, beyond what Brooke's told me (that she's artsy, bossy, and taller), but it's obviously just how much she loves her. The way she tells it, the funny thing about walking in on her sister, wasn't about who she walked in on her with, but how it happened to begin with.

I want to believe I'd be that generous with my sisters, because no one is as important to me as they are. I want to be big enough not to care about the person they decide to be with beyond if they make them happy, but I can't say that for sure. I've routinely hated all of my older sister's boyfriends, but Brooke talks about it like it's a non-issue. 

Her sister is dating a girl, and Brooke still can't look the girl in the eye without blushing because she maybe, almost, walked in on something, but not because she's girl.

I really like her for that. 

  
I don’t bring up her education again, and she ends up scrambling to hang up on me after catching a glimpse of the time when someone starts knocking on her door. She's gone so fast I barely get to say goodbye.   
I start tossing my now pointless phone up in the air and catching it one handed, thinking it over.  
Brooke’s funny, and brilliant, and so nice.  
It seems fundamentally unfair that she can’t do the thing she loves. I guess the opportunity I have, the insane turn my life has taken towards actually accomplishing my dreams, has made me more idealistic, but I want to believe she will get hers too.  
Brooke deserves that.  
I just have no idea how to get it for her, and I’m fairly certain that's not my place.  
I like talking to her, texting her all the time is fun, and I think we’re flirting.  
I’m know I am, and I don’t think I’m reading this wrong thinking she is too, but it’s complicated.

  
Corbyn gets back to our room then, throwing the door open interrupting my thoughts, calling out, “Whatcha doing, bro?”  
I’m sure he’s asking about right now, if I’ve got plans for tonight, and definitely not about what I’m doing with Brooke, but the answer is the same.  
“I’ve got no idea.”

 

 


	7. He Did It First

Brooke.

“You’ve been texting Jack Avery and didn’t tell me?” Hannah practically explodes when I get her on the phone.  
She’s been messaging me nonstop for the last fifteen minutes, despite the fact that she knows I was in class. I’m fighting my way down the hall and absolutely positive my entire Geometry class just heard her.  
“Aren’t you at work?” I whisper-yell.  
“Yes, but I’m on break!”  
“Hazza. Your job is part-time, you don’t get breaks.”  
“Well, I’m…” She starts to answer, then remembers why I called. “You’re texting Jack Avery!”  
“I…” I knew this was going to happen. There’s no way I’d be able to keep this to myself forever, but I didn’t think she would find out without me telling her. “He did it first.”  
“Oh, my, God. He did what first?” Hannah demands.  
“Texted me!” I rush out, because there’s no telling the depths of depravity her mind will descend into with that statement. “He found me on Twitter.”  
“Oh my god.”  
“It’s not a big deal.” The wind rushes against my face as I push the door open, escaping into the street from the building across campus from my dorm where my last lecture of the day is.  
“It’s not a big deal.” She repeats, and I can virtually hear her eyes rolling. “I’m sure the not-a-big-deal-ness is why you didn’t say anything to me. You’re so full of shit.”  
“I am not!” I tug the hood of my jacket up, “We’re just talking.”  
“Does Lake know?” She presses.  
“About Jack?”  
“No, about George Clooney,” She’s worked up enough that she’s speed talking, “Yes, Brooke, about Jack!”  
“No, Lake doesn’t know. We’re just talking.”  
“You’re just talking to Jack Avery.”  
“Quit saying his name like that!” I hiss into my phone.  
Hannah laughs, “Brookie.”  
“No.”  
“Brooke.”  
“No.”  
“Bee.”  
“We’re not having this discussion.”  
“Brookie.” The tease in her tone is so obvious to me she doesn’t have to say anything else, not that it stops her, “You like him!”  
“Shut up.”  
“You do.” She practically squeals. This is the part of the conversation where she’d elbow me while making stupid faces if I was hiding in her work bathroom with her. "You, Brooke B. Bailey, have a crush on Jack R. Avery." Hannah sounds ecstatic.    
“Maybe.” I tell her, only because I can’t lie to her. “Don’t you need to get back to stabbing kindergartners?”  
“You know that kind of language only adds to the stigma around getting shots which makes kids even more afraid of them,” Hannah starts to lecture me, and I can’t help laughing.  
She sighs, “You’ll tell me everything, when my shift is over?”  
“I’ll tell you somethings, when we’re both free.”  
“What’s the point of your best-friend dating Jack Avery if you don’t get all the details, huh?”  
“I’m not dating him, Haz, I’m…” I try to protest, but she’s already hung up on me.

It only dawns on my after I’ve messaged Jack a funny picture of a giant poodle on the street outside my dorm that I have no idea how Hannah found out about this.  
She answers me immediately.

‘He wanted to know something you needed for Christmas.’  
‘I sent him the amazon page for those Rotring pencils you like.’  
‘You’re welcome.’

Hannah is can be pretty crazy, but she really is the best person to have in your corner.

 

 

“What superpower would you have if you got to pick one?”  
Jack interrupts the flow of my thoughts. He’s taken to Face-Timing me late at night, while I’m studying and he’s supposed to be asleep. I’m terrible company, but he keeps calling and for some reason I keep answering.  
At first it seemed entirely unhelpful, more distracting any anything else, until he caught on that I sometimes think aloud when I forget he’s there, and he starting making me explain advanced Calculus. Somehow teaching him seems to help me remember it better.

Jack’s in a mood tonight though. They’ve started rehearsing for these stadium shows, and it gives him this high that even before he gets on a real stage, takes hours for him to come down from. I can’t imagine how much energy he’ll have after singing for real fans.  
“Superpower?”  
“Yes,” He drawls, “You know, invisibility, flying, shapeshifting…”  
“I’d want to shift probability.”  
“What?”  
I glance up at my screen. The way Jack has his phone tilted I’m mostly looking at his curls and the glare in his glasses. “I’d like to be able to shift probabilities.”  
“Give me an example?” He wiggles his eyebrows.  
“Like…” I bite at my lip, “ So, the chance of finding a hundred dollars on the sidewalk or an open seat on the subway during rush hour are statistically really low, right?”  
He nods.  
“But if you could shift probability, you could affect the chance that those things would happen, and make the probability ninety percent, instead of less than one.”  
“So you’d make yourself extra lucky?” Jack grins.  
“I guess you could put it that way.” I nod, “I like my explanation better.”  
“Sure you do.” Jack tips his head forward, obscuring more of my view of him, “It’s more math-y.”  
“That’s not a word.”  
He sticks his tongue out.  
“It has more math vocabulary.” I suggest, and he tosses the phone down.  
“You don’t have to prove you’re too smart for me, you know.” He’s trying not to laugh as he picks it back up. “I am well aware.”

I try, really try, not to smile.

It works about as well as my best efforts not to like him.

Which is to say, all my attempts are futile.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
Jack.

“Yo, Jack.” Zach throws a ping pong ball at my face, “Come on, put your phone down and play with me.”   
He’s pouting while waving a paddle my direction when I look up. When I don’t stand, he gestures like he might throw that too.  
“Fine, fine.”   
“Finally.” He grins.   
I tuck my phone into my back pocket and steal the paddle from his hand.   
Zach serves, “What’s so interesting about your phone lately anyway?”   
I smack the ball back his way, “Nothing.”  
Corbyn snickers.

The band is on a break from our rehearsals for a Christmas radio arena tour.  
That this is our life, my life, feels unreal.

Jonah and Corbyn have taken over the only sofa to play Nintendo, Daniel’s on the floor by the door tuning his guitar, and our team is off doing checks or something.   
Zach’s been taking turns goading everyone into playing ping-pong with him, since that’s the only game we’ve got here. We've all gotten pretty good at it.  
“So,” He spins his paddle after returning the ball, “Not nothing.”   
“It’s not, like, a big deal.” I tap the ball back to his side.   
“It’s a girl.” He smirks, “You only look that stupid about girls. It has to be a girl, right?”  
I slam his volley a little too hard, sending it wide, cracking against the wall.   
“Definitely a girl.”   
I groan, walking across the room to retrieve our ball.   
“How’d you meet her? Do we know her?”   
I serve back to him fast without answering.   
He gently lofts the ball over the net, “That’s a yes, then.”

The thing is, Zach is sixteen.  
He’s younger than the rest of us, and not insignificantly. I overheard Jonah telling Zach once, that there’s a lot of growing up between sixteen and eighteen, and I know that’s true.   
I’d say I don’t treat Zach differently, but it’s a lie. He’s the nearest thing I’ve got to a little brother, and even when he drives me insane, he’s still the one I’m closest to.   
I don’t ask him for advice, but when I want a distraction, or a friend, it’s always Zach.   
It’s kind of inevitable that he finds about Brooke, that all the boys do, but I haven’t been looking forward to the coming ridicule.

I knew not telling anyone but Corbyn was going to bite me in the ass.

“Should I start guessing?” Zach smiles with too many teeth, “Anyone wanna take bets?”   
I roll my eyes, “Or I could just tell you.”   
“That too.” He eyes me, and I serve.  
Jonah loses his headphones, “Is it a serious thing?”   
I miss the ball, again.  
“My point,” Zach taps the table.  
“Yes, and no.”   
Daniel tosses the stray ball to me, now more intrigued by Zach’s interrogation than his guitar, “Well, which is it?”   
I close my fist around the ball, “Yes, that was Zach’s point. No, it’s not serious.”  
“But you’d like it to be,” Daniel surmises.   
I set up the ball again, “Maybe.”  
Zach fails to even swing for it, “And you haven’t said anything?”   
He’s pouting again.  
“It’s a non-thing right now, Z, I swear. I would have told you if there was anything worth saying.”  
“You Face-Time Brooke, like, every single night, Bro. I wouldn’t exactly call it a non-thing.” Corbyn doesn’t look up from his game until it sinks in what he’s done. “Shit. Sorry, Jack.”   
I would roll my eyes, but Zach’s are already massive.   
“Brooke. Contest Hannah’s Brooke? With the boots and the drawings?” He basically climbs the table to lean towards me.   
I nod, and Zach springs upright, clapping obnoxiously loud. “Good going, man. She’s cute.”   
“Quit that,” I bang my paddle against the table, “I told you, it’s not, like, a thing.”   
“Yet.” He and Corbyn jinx each other, then laugh, which makes me brave enough to check Jonah and Daniel's reactions.   
Daniel looks speculative, but shoots me an earnest smile when I meet his eyes.   
Jonah tips his head my way, just once, with a half grin. It’s not a huge congratulations, but it is approval, abet conditional. Knowing him, I am most definitely in for a long conversation later.

I feel ten pounds lighter when Zach gets me back into playing our game, and forces Corbyn tell them all the whole story of how I started talking to Brooke again after she left.

I was right about them making me pay, I catch hell for the rest of the night, in a good natured way, and Brooke does too, when I call her from the van to let her know they know.   
Everyone says hi, and she gives as good as they do when the teasing starts in on her.

I liked having Brooke privately, having someone to myself, but there are some advantages to this being band knowledge.

“What’s your most surprising talent?”   
Brooke’s head doesn’t move from where she’s bent over her books, “Basketball.”   
I squint at my phone screen, not sure I heard her correctly. “Basketball?”   
“Basketball.” She agrees, still looking down.   
“But you’re not tall.”   
That finally makes her look up, “First of all, rude. Second, height isn’t a requirement to be any good at it, and third," She lifts up three fingers, "I grew up in North Carolina. It’s practically mandatory to play basketball.”   
“Huh.”   
She goes back to her notes, but I’m still curious. “Were you on a team? Like in High School?”   
“Yup. I was a starter Junior year.”   
“You just don’t seem like the sports type.”   
Brooke sighs, placing a bookmark then closing her notes, “I’m not really. I’m terrible at soccer, and volleyball, and softball, but basketball is my favorite.” She smirks, “Plus, it was that or cheerleading.”   
I have to laugh, “Yeah. I can’t see you as a cheerleader.”   
“Nope.” Brooke pushes her glasses up, “I couldn’t cheer with a straight face to save my life.”   
“You’d just lose it in the stands at the stupid chants.” I grin at that mental picture. She’d still be hot in the uniform.  
“It would have been even worse than that actually, because they dance.”   
“Oh, the horror of dancing.” I lift up my brows.   
Brooke tries to backpedal, “I mean… I know you dance, but it’s like your thing. You’re good at it.”   
“I’m really not.”  
“Please.” Brooke’s eyes flick up to the ceiling, “You’re the best at it.”  
“Now maybe,” I concede, “But I wasn’t at first.”   
“No?” She almost looks hopeful.  
“No. I failed so hard at our first rehearsal that I bruised my ass and then stormed off.”   
Brooke laughs, “That’s hilarious.”  
“It wasn’t then. It was kind of awful, I thought for sure our choreographer was going to hate me…”   
“Eli?” Her head tilts.  
“Yeah. It was only the second time I’d ever meet her, and that’s a terrible first impression. I still feel bad about it.”   
“She seems…” Brooke plays with her hair, “Strict?”   
“Nah. Eli’s the best. She’s serious, but she never quits on us.” I wave a hand out in front of me, even though Brooke can’t see, “Like, even on the days I’m positive we’re going to show up to a locked studio, she’s still there.”   
I can’t exactly read Brooke’s face in the grainy image caused by the spotty internet connection here, but I can tell she’s thinking.   
She shakes her head once, “So how long did it take you to get better?”   
“A couple weeks, maybe. The first couple days were worse than anything else. The dancing we have to do isn’t that hard.”  
“For you.” Her smile returns, “You’ve never seen me dance. Months would probably wouldn’t make a difference.”   
“I’d lend you Eli, she can make anyone look good.” I flip over to lay on my back groaning. Another night, another awful hotel bed.   
“You sound sore.”  
“Not from dancing. It’s these beds.” I moan,“I can’t wait for thanksgiving, if only to sleep in my own.”  
“I can’t imagine sleeping in hotels as much as you do.” Brooke taps her pen against her books.   
“It’s not so bad, but I miss my family.”   
“Lake and I have always shared a room, but I think I’d miss her too, if she wasn’t around.”   
I laugh, “You would. What about your parents? Do you get to go home for thanksgiving?”   
“No.” She clicks her pen, “My parents are coming up, doing the parade and all that nonsense, but we only get two days off. It’s not worth flying home.”   
“The Thanksgiving Day Parade is nonsense?”   
Now it’s her turn to laugh, “You say that like it’s sacrilege. It’s going to be fifteen degrees.”   
“So? You’ll get to see all the balloons! All the bands, and the floats! It’s, like, every kid’s dream!”   
If anything my arguments make her laugh harder.   
“Fifteen degrees, Jack.” She sets her pen down, leaning forward, “And what promises to be the most awkward of lunches, maybe ever, with my parents and my sister’s girlfriend.”

I spend the next fifteen minutes extolling the virtues of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade, which Brooke will have none of, until she can’t quit giggling while she insists she has to go to ‘actually get some studying done’, and when she finally hangs up on me, her face is frozen on my screen with the best smile.

 

 


	8. Impossible Calculation

Brooke.

I kick at the slush of dirty snow on the sidewalk by my dorm, braving the streets and cold for privacy. Lake’s final project is consuming in our room, encroaching into the hall through the open door, and I still haven’t told her about Jack.  
We haven’t spoken on the phone since before Thanksgiving, both of us so busy with our families, but now they’re gone I just want to see him.  
Jack answers my call on the first ring, FaceTime showing me his grinning face, framed by a pair of skinny legs, with someone’s hands playing with his curls.  
“Hey Brooke.” He drawls.  
“Um, hi?”  
He recognizes my confusion and tilts the camera up to expose Eli sitting on a sofa behind him.  
She smiles around the bobby-pin between her teeth, and lifts one hand to wave at me.  
“What are you doing?” I have to ask.  
Jack moves the camera back to his face, “Proving a point.”  
“Losing a bet!” Another male voice calls. This is relatively a new thing, with the guys knowing, Jack will talk to me anywhere. He had texted me hours ago to let me know they made it backstage. They’ve started this arena tour, which Jack can’t get over. He confessed after the first show he kept thinking security might toss them out before they even got to their green room. They don’t go on stage at this stop for another couple hours, so I thought he'd be free to talk.  
“Which is?” I question the bet.  
“All of us have hair long enough to braid.” Jack’s smile is almost sheepish. His hair is obviously the longest, the curls barely keep it out of his face.  
“I’ve got twenty bucks that says he’s wrong.” Someone else says, maybe Corbyn.  
Jack flips the camera to show me the rest of the room, “So far, Corbyn and Jonah have succumbed.”  
Corbyn is leaning against the far wall, his hair somehow braided like a crown around his head. Jonah’s sitting on the floor by his feet, a few of his longer bangs in tiny braids.  
Daniel’s messing with a phone in a chair in the corner, and when Jack turns the camera around I spot Zach sitting next to Eli, whose hair is pulled into two perfect french braids too, framing her face.  
“I’m right.” Jack announces, “You’re going to have to pay up.”  
“I don’t know.” Corbyn says, “Zach’s hair is the shortest.”  
“Eli’s a genius with braids.”  
“You think that because you don’t know how to do it.” She corrects.  
Jack sticks his tongue out, “I could learn.”  
“You could,” Eli pats the top of his head.  
He leans back further into her lap, asking me about how Thanksgiving went, like there’s nothing at all awkward about this.  
So I tell him about my parents’ visit, about how miserable I was shivering at the parade, and which hotel we ended up at for the almost, but not quite, most awkward lunch ever.  
I’m distracted the whole time by how close he is to Eli.  
When she finishes his hair, she pushes his head forward to show me the braided faux-mohawk.  
“That looks sick.” Zach decides.  
“Bro.” Corbyn whistles.  
Eli leans down to look at me, “Brooke?”  
“I think it’s cool.”  
Jack beams. “Daniel next,” He leaps up from his place between her knees, smacking a kiss to Eli’s cheek before dancing away, showing me flashes of whatever green room they’re stuck in while ducking into the hallway, “Come get me when she’s done!”  
“If she can do it!”  
“When!”  
“If!”  
Jack shakes his head fondly. His freckles stand out more without his curls. I want, viscerally, to know what they feel like, how many he has, if they cover more of his skin.

“So, Eli?”  
I try to be cool, but I have this awful habit of blurting out exactly what’s on my mind with Jack. At first I thought it was nerves, then I thought it was because texting almost feels anonymous, but now I know it’s just him. He makes it easy to be too honest.  
“Hm?” He tips his head to the side.  
“You were between her legs.”  
“Oh.” The puzzlement clears in his eyes, “You think… No.” He shutters, “No. God, no.”  
“I mean… It’s okay if…” I rush out. It is. I can be his friend, support him in anything he wants, because that’s all we are anyway, or so I’m going to keep insisting to myself.  
“No.” He repeats, seriously now, “No. Eli’s great, but I don’t even think of her as a girl ninety-nine percent of the time.”  
I squint at him. I’ve seen her in a leotard.  
“I mean,” Jack grimaces, “Obviously, she’s a girl. But she’s one of the guys… Or like a sister, or a mom. I guess she’s pretty or, whatever, but…” He looks down the hall, “She’s who that wakes up when we’re touring and someone can’t sleep, you know? Eli takes care of us.”  
“You’re just close.”  
“Well, yeah. We’ve lived together, basically, on and off for months. I love her a lot, but I’m not like, in love with her. Not like…” Jack stops himself from finishing that sentence.  
I nod slowly. That makes sense, I suppose. It feels like that isn’t the whole truth, especially since he didn’t finish his explanation, but I believe him when he says he isn’t in love with her. I think I can read him well enough to trust that.  
“So. Should I keep my hair up for the show?”  
I smirk at that idea. “You’d disappoint your fans. I think they like the noddles.”  
“Maybe.” He smiles back, “But you like the braid.”  
I start to speak when Zach calls him back inside.  
Jack waves him off to say goodbye alone.  
“You’re good right?” He considers me. “We’re cool.”  
Finals have made me a walking ball of anxiety and stress, but it lights up something inside of me, knowing that he knows me well enough to ask. “Yeah. Of course. Everything’s fine.”  
Jack looks relieved, “Okay. I’ll call you tonight.”  
“Okay.”  
“Bye, Bee.”  
“Bye Jack.” I start to answer, but he’s already gone.

 

 

And everything isn’t fine.

Jack doesn’t call me, and I watch him interviewed on a live-stream. He basically makes a fool of himself over Selena Gomez, and it makes every insecurity I have roar to life. I don’t like feeling this way, pathetic and desperate and jealous.  
I'm a calm person, I make smart choices, and don’t assume I’ll get things I know I can’t have.  
Apparently, none of that applies to him. It feels wrong, to see him talk about someone else, when I feel like this about him.

I know I’m not competition for the girls he could have.  
Jack’s always surrounded by hot girls. All the girls he's friends with could model, if they don't already, and every picture I see of him, someone new is hanging off him.  
That’s the thing about boy bands; their lives are all girls, all the time.

I tell myself how stupid it is to be hurt by this, but I can’t seem to help it.

It implodes when he texts me, scatterbrained and high off his fans, the way I've learned he always is after a show.  
I can’t let it go, and he thinks I’m joking until we’re fighting over nothing.

It escalates until I inform him I have to deal with the impending nightmare of finals, and I don’t have time for his drama.  
All this back and forth, words and actions without any explanation of what they mean, or what we’re doing, is too much for me.

Jack’s the kind of guy I stay away from, for a reason. I’ve known from the start, this was never going anywhere, but I’ve felt like he wanted it to, for weeks now.  
It made me think it was safe to want him. That was a mistake.

 

I don’t mess with complicated, and Jack Avery is impossible. 

  
I throw my phone across the room, and if I cry, Lake’s kind enough to pretend she’s asleep.

 

 

Jack.

I want to scream.   
I want to smash my face into my mattress and scream, but I don’t.   
I thought I had it under control.   
I thought I was balancing Brooke, and life, and my job, just fine.  
Clearly, not.

By the time she quits responding to my messages, I don’t even know what I’m saying. I’m so tired I can’t think straight. I'm sure half of my texts are nonsense, and none of them are coming up read.

We’re in Minnesota, staying at Jonah’s parents’ house after playing another stadium show. I’m supposed to be sharing a room with him, except thankfully, Eli's here so he hasn’t come to bed yet. I know not to except him in until curfew at the earliest.

  
When I can't keep my eyes open any longer, I drop my phone off the bed, and pull the covers up over my head to try to get some sleep. 

  
Mom always tells me the best thing to do when you find yourself in a hole is quit digging.

 

When I wake up a few hours later, with my throat on fire. Singing every day wears out my vocal cords, I wake up like this way more often then I care to admit.   
I wouldn’t trade it for anything, playing stadiums is surreal, but it’s grueling.

I stumble down the hall in the dark towards the kitchen, freezing when I hear voices.   
A light is on even though we were supposed to go to bed hours ago. Looking closer, I can see Eli and Jonah standing between the stove and counter speaking quietly.

I hadn’t noticed Jonah wasn’t in bed when I woke up, but he doesn’t look like he’s been asleep yet. I should leave them alone, turn around and go back to our room now. They never get time alone, completely to themselves, and they obviously think the rest of the house is asleep.

Jonah is leaning back against the counter, a coffee cup discarded next to him. Eli’s across from him, a mug cradled between her hands.   
They’re speaking in low voices, too softly for me to hear, but I can’t seem to pull myself away.   
Jonah says something with a half-smirk that makes Eli shake her head.   
She sets her drink down on the counter, then reaches for him. The bracelet on her wrist slides down her arm when she hooks her fingers in the belt-loops of his jeans, reeling him in until he’s pressed against her. Jonah just lets her.

They look good together.

Jonah’s the tallest in the band, and Eli’s the tallest girl I know. She’s a bitty thing, skinny-skinny, and her build makes Jonah seem like he could eclipse her.   
She keeps her hands in his belt-loops, so he places his on the counter behind her.   
Eli tilts her face up slightly, pressing her forehead to Jonah’s, and I know I’m about to witness something they wouldn’t want me to see.

I cough.

They don’t jump, to their credit, but Eli untangles her hands, and Jonah kisses her cheekbone before returning to his original spot.

“Jack.”   
“Sorry.” I cough again, stepping into the light, “My throat.”   
Eli’s in my space before I’m even finished speaking, across the room with her hand on my forehead and concern in her eyes, “What’s wrong? Anything else hurt?”   
“I’m okay.” I shrug her off, “Just need water.”   
She scrunches up her nose, but concludes, “You don’t have a fever.”  
“Thanks, E. I didn’t know we were paying for your medical expertise.” She narrows her eyes at me.  
“You’re good to sing tomorrow, right?” Jonah looks me over, “How long has this been going on? Do you need to see a doctor?”   
“I’m fine, Dad.” I roll my eyes, “It’s just a sore throat.”  
Eli gently shoves at me, then starts to pull things down from cabinets I wasn’t aware this house even had. Eli clearly knows this place better than we do, she was here over Thanksgiving with Jonah. She sets a teapot on the stove, and I settle next to Jonah by the counter.

I watch him watch her, and it hurts.  
It stings the part of my heart fighting with Brooke already hurt, to see how much they hide.

Jonah isn’t trying to restrain the emotion on his face right now, not the way he usually does.   
When it's only the band, he’s more open, but even then there’s a lot I know he keeps from us.

His face is easy for me to read tonight though. His eyes show exactly how he feels about her.   
There’s more than friendship, more than adoration, more than attraction there.

I’ve always found Eli intense. She just is, and I get it. She has to be, do to her job. Her intensity forges respect. When Eli focuses on you, it feels like she’s got laser vision, like she can see down to your bones.   
Jonah looks at her that way, as if he’s trying to see into her soul; or maybe, he already has.

Jonah, unguarded, looks at Eli like he never wants to look anything else.

It makes me want to vanish. Fuck my throat, I should have never interrupted them.   
While I’m debating trying to sneak away, the tea whistles.   
Plus, it's not like Eli would have ever let that happen anyway. She shepherds me to the table, and makes me sit with them until it’s gone. We talk about our families, my sisters and her brothers, until my tea is finished, and we’re all yawning.   
I hug Eli goodnight and head back to bed while Jonah walks her to her room.

Just another thing that seems so stupid, they never officially share rooms on trips, even though we wind up catching him stealing in and out of hers all the time.   
Jonah’s gentle with the door when he comes in, but I hear the latch click.

“Hey, bro.”  
“Yeah, Jack?”   
“Your shirt’s inside-out.”   
It hits my face seconds later, and I snicker.   
Jonah groans, “Goodnight, Jack.”   
“Night, J.”

It takes me too long to fall asleep, running in my head the math of what Jonah and Eli have.   
What does it cost to be with someone, with our job? How could it ever be worth it?

I think even Brooke would agree that it’s a impossible calculation, and I might be working with too many imaginary numbers now anyway.

 

 

Jonah’s noisy when he gets dressed.

I wake up to him rustling around in his jeans from last night, probably looking for his wallet.   
I don’t check that I’m right though, because it’s way too early for this.

“Going somewhere?” I sound like someone’s taken a cheese grater to my larynx.  
“Get up. You’re coming with me.” Jonah pushes at my feet.  
My eyes feel glued shut.   
He tugs the blanket off me. “Come on.”   
I blink at him, and something in his face lets me know I won’t get out of this.   
I haul myself up and pull the first set of clothes I find on. It might be Zach’s shirt, which God only knows how it ended up in Jonah’s bag, but I know that these are my sweatpants at least.

We’re quiet in the car. Jonah drives, and I don’t notice where we are until he parks.   
This is a fancy mall, and I’m wearing pajamas, “Dude. What are we doing?”  
“Eli’s Christmas present.” Jonah already climbing out of the car, so I get out after him.   
He marches directly into the Cartier store, and I tail him reluctantly. I feel like if I breathe too hard, I’m going to break something.   
I look at everything with wide eyes while Jonah gives someone his name and stands by a counter.   
The clerk comes back with a red box, and I wander back to look at whatever he’s buying.   
“Holy shit.” My eyebrows might as well be in my hair.   
Jonah smacks my arm, hard, and I shut up.  
He runs a finger over the bracelet. It looks identical to the bracelet Eli already wears, except this one has diamonds imbedded in the gold, glittering under all the lights.   
“It’s perfect.” Jonah smiles.   
The price they quote him makes me dizzy.  
Jonah’s good with money. He’s responsible, and never blows it on stupid stuff, unlike the rest of us, but he hands over his card for this like it’s nothing.   
With the bag in one hand, he throws an arm over my shoulders to steer me back to the parking lot. My cognitive function hasn’t fully returned yet. “How do you do it?”   
I want to know why Mister Sensibility bought that ridiculously pricey bracelet, but I’m also asking how he makes it work with Eli.   
Jonah knows me well enough to get it.  
“Eli’s…” Jonah starts, then shakes his head, “She wasn’t even my type before I meet her.”  
I knew that already.   
Jonah’s always been interested in shorter, curvier, dark-haired girls.   
Eli is not any of those things.   
“And this isn’t the life I thought I’d have, when I’d find someone I’d want to stay with. I figured this craziness would be the time to mess around, and I’d meet someone, be steady, later.”   
“So why are you with her?”   
“She gave herself to me in bits and pieces, teaspoon by teaspoon,” Jonah laughs, “I was addicted to her before I knew what was happening,” He looks away, “Hell, I was halfway in love with Eli before I ever touched her.”   
“But you can’t even tell anyone.”  
“No.” Jonah unlocks the car, “That’s a decision we made.”   
When we’re both buckled in, he starts the engine before looking back at me, “Eli’s a supremely private person, and I respect that. She’s got a life independent of me."  
“Doesn’t it bother you though?” He lifts a brow, so I explain, “That she doesn’t need you, like, at all.”   
“No, it doesn’t bother me. I know Eli’s more talented and better off in her career than I am, and honestly?” He quirks half his mouth up, “I had no idea how sexy that was until I got it.”   
He adjusts the rear-view mirror, “There’s nothing Eli wants from me; she just wants me, and I just want her too.” He puts the car in reverse, “So I intend to keep her.”   
“With stupid expensive jewelry?”   
“With commitment and follow-through.” He corrects, “It’s not easy, to have her and do what we do. I know that’s what you’re asking, and I wouldn’t lie to you, not about that.”   
“Shouldn’t it be?” I interrupt, “Shouldn’t it be easy? Isn’t it supposed to be, when it’s right?”  
“No.” Jonah spins the steering wheel, “Every relationship is work. That’s what makes it worth something. Maybe, I wish our circumstances were different, but I wouldn’t trade having her now for anything.”

That ricochets through my brain, expolding all the immature things I've been trying to convice myself of, leaving only the truth.

“I fucked up.” I bury my hands in my hair, “I really, really fucked up.”

“Well,” Jonah glances at me as he steers out of the parking lot, “How do we fix it?”  
That’s why he’s the dad, our problems are always his.   
I have a plan by the time we get back to the house.  
It’s sort of crazy, but I think it’s to go big or go away, and I’m not ready to go anywhere.

 

 


	9. Nice Cacti

  
Jack.

Lake underestimates her sister. She’d described her as louder, more intimidating, more forthright, and more forceful than herself.   
In reality, her sister is even more terrifying.   
But that might just be the circumstances.

  
Corbyn and Christina get me as far as the gates at Columbia, riding the subway up to the Upper East Side, before Christina squeezes at my arm and Corbyn punches it, abandoning me with only a ‘Don’t fuck it up this time.’   
It’s not all that encouraging.

I would have been able to recognize Lake even without her wearing Brooke’s hoodie. People tell me I look like my sister, but Lake is clearly Brooke’s twin. Her hair’s a mess, pulled up into some kind of wild topknot, and she hardly glances up from her phone when I walk up.   
Both of us are five minutes early.  
“I wasn’t sure you’d actually show.” She’s wearing Brooke’s glasses, too.  
“I could say the same about you.”  
We stare at each other for a minute.   
Lake breaks first, “Don’t play with my sister again.”   
“I swear, that was never my intention.”   
She shakes her head and starts walking away, “Brooke hasn’t done this before. You have to be really, really clear with her.”   
I follow her up the street, “I understand.”  
“Do you?” Lake shoves a door open and strides inside without waiting for a response.

The process of being signed into Brooke’s dorm seems surprisingly easy after Corbyn’s never-ending rants about how complicated FIT’s visitor policy is. The security guard hardly glances at my ID before chucking it into a Tupperware while Lake scribbles my name down in what might be the least intelligible cursive I’ve ever seen.   
I know Brooke’s handwriting, in contrast, is all tiny capitol letters.   
We’re silent in the elevator, and it feels like three decades have passed by the time we reach their floor. Lake’s out first when the doors creak open, and we're halfway down the hall when a guy sticks his head out of an open door.   
“Hey, Cloud.”   
She freezes, then turns to look at him.   
“Hi Mason.”   
The guy’s in a desk chair, rolled halfway in the hall to crane his neck for a look at me.   
“That your boyfriend?”   
Lake’s face isn’t easy for me to read, but I think she’s shooting daggers at that guy from behind her lenses. If looks could kill…  
“Cool, cool. So…” He tips even further into the hallway, “Storm around?”   
“You’re their RA, right?” I don’t think about what I’m doing before I’m striding down the hall towards him, one hand extended, “Jack Avery.”  
He’s got a weak grip and doesn’t bother to stand up, “Mason Coin.”   
I squeeze his hand harder than strictly necessary. Hannah was right about him. He’s got an unhealthy interest in Brooke. As in, if he pushes this, I can make it bad for his health. “You might want to learn their names. Seems like that’d be part of your job, y’know.” I start back up the hall to where Lake’s waiting with her keys out. “Plus, I got a lot further with Brooke remembering her name than trying to be cute.” I toss back over my shoulder.   
He might try to say something but I ignore him.   
Lake’s eyes do the same thing as Brooke’s do when she tries not to laugh. She unlocks the door, pushing it open a few inches before looking at me, “Good luck.”  
“You’re not coming in?” My tone pitches up.  
“Hannah says you aren’t a monster, and I’ve got to be in the studio. Plus,” Lake rolls her eye and gestures down the hall, “Massively Annoying Mason always has an ear out, and I’m confidant Brooke could kick you out if she wanted to.”   
“I’d leave, if she wants. I’ll do whatever she wants.” I try for reassuring.   
Lake shrugs, “She’s not great at that.”   
“Wanting stuff?”   
“Saying it.” She walks away spinning her keys, “There’s cereal in there, somewhere, if you want to let her sleep.”

I watch until she’s gone, then push the door all the way open to the room I’ve been studying on FaceTime for weeks. I survey Lake’s side of the room first, messy as ever. There’s a dozen sketches, smudgy lines of things just starting to take a shape lining her walls.   
When I’m brave enough to look to Brooke’s side, she’s fast asleep, limps akimbo on her bunk, elevated a good four feet off the ground. She’s somehow precariously balanced on the edge, and it instantly makes me want to buy her one of those kiddie bed rails. It’s not that far to the floor, but it is tile.  
Brooke sleeps in fits, naps more than anything. The only time I’ve ever seen her sleep through the night is when jet-lagged; so I find a clean mug and the box of lucky charms before settling into a desk chair to wait, because I know she’ll be awake soon enough.

Brooke wakes up two mugs of cereal later, when I’m rustling the box for the last of the marshmallows. She flips over in her bed, wiping the sleep from her eyes with a fist.  
She catches sight of me then, and blinks for several long seconds.

I had a plan, things to say and explain and do, but I’m trapped in her eyes and can’t remember my own name.   
She reaches for a pair of glasses on a shelf, then blinks at me some more.

“Good morning?” I give her the smallest of hopeful smiles.   
“Is that gone?” She reaches towards the box still upside-down in my hand.   
I nod.   
She squints, “We haven’t spoken in a week, and you ate all my cereal.”   
“In my defense,” I put the box down, “We haven’t spoken in a week, and I didn’t know what time you fell asleep, so I didn’t know when you’d wake up?”  
She sighs heavily, rubbing at her forehead, “What are you doing here, Jack?”   
I take a deep breath, “So, the thing is, I can be kind of an asshole. And I’m not great at communication. But you seemed kinda into that?”   
She opens her mouth, but I keep going, “Not the shitty communicator thing, but the asshole thing. Didn’t seem to bother you.”   
Brooke swings her legs over the edge of the bed. Her leggings have tacos on them, and the sheer ridiculousness of what is going on right now nearly makes me break into hysterical laughter, but I rein it in.   
“I know I say the wrong thing, a lot, and maybe I do the wrong thing, more often than I should, but Brooke?” I meet her eyes, those insanely alluring pools of the galaxy. “I like you, and I’m really fucking sorry I didn’t say it sooner, but it’s the truth. I really like you.”   
She doesn’t say anything, so I clear my throat, “More than a friend. I like you more than friends, and I don’t think that’s the wrong thing to say or do, so I hope it’s not the wrong time, because…”  
Brooke holds up a palm, taking mercy on me by stopping my rambling. The girl’s always made me this nervous. I’m not a rambler.   
“It wasn’t entirely your fault.”   
I must make a skeptical face.  
“Our fight. It wasn’t completely your fault. You aren’t the only asshole.” She pushes her glasses up.   
I fake a wince, “I wouldn’t have said anything.”  
“I’m a prickly person,” Brooke shrugs.   
I stand up, “I’m sorry, Bee. We messed up, and I’d like a second chance, because I think we could be a great pair of cactuses together.”   
“Cacti.”   
“What?”   
Brooke looks at the ceiling. “The plural of cactus is cacti.”  
The corners of my mouth curve up, I know she’s going to forgive me if she’s going to snark me, “Well, then, we can be nice cacti together.”   
She cracks then, palming her face to hide her grin, groaning, “How does anyone ever take you seriously? I don’t know if I want to kiss you, or shove you out a window.”   
Hearing the smile in her voice makes me smirk more, “Well, seeing as your windows are barred, and I’ve been told…” I start to advance towards her, only for her pillow to smack my face so hard I almost have to take a step back. I catch the pillow, tucking it under my arm, “So you forgive me?”  
“Yes.” She looks away, “Just don’t dismiss my feelings again, Jack. Not if you really…”  
“Want to be more than friends?”   
“You’re serious?”   
There’s something brittle in how she asks that, and it makes me want to run over all her exes with our tour bus. “Yes, I’m serious.” I place her pillow back on her bed, half leaning over her. “I’m sorry, Bee.”  
Her arms wrap around my neck seemingly of their own volition, keeping me rooted to the spot. She smells incredible. Her eyeliner is smudged and half-washed off, and she’s still the best looking thing I’ve maybe ever seen.   
“I told you it wasn’t entirely your fault.”   
I hum.  
“And I know you’re kind of a jackass, Jack. But apparently so am I, and I’m into that sort of thing.”   
I feel her words against my skin, and I can’t help pushing, “That doesn’t sound like an apology.”   
She fake pushes me away, “Oh, bite me, Avery.”   
“Before our first date? That’s rushing things, isn’t it?” I lift a brow. Pulling back from her is difficult. I want to climb in her bed with her, and stay there. “The band’s got stuff, like every second of today, but I’ve got tickets, for tonight. Eli’s company is having this thing.”   
Brooke’s head tilts a little, her hair covering her face.   
“Come with me?"  
“You’re asking me on a date?”   
“The other guys will be there, but…” I smile, “Yes.”   
“Okay.” She lifts one shoulder.  
“Really?”  
“Yes.” She leans forward to knock her forehead into my chest. “I’ll go out with you.”   
“Good.” I grin down at her bangs, “Because there were three alternative plans to get you there, and they seemed like the could get messy, or at least a lot more embarrassing.”   
“On my part or yours?”  
“Mine.”   
“Well…” Brooke sits back, “Maybe I agreed too fast.”   
My phone starts ringing, Jonah’s ringtone, calling, I’m sure to check I’m heading back downtown. I start backing away, “Nope. I’ve got to go now, but you’ve already said yes. You’re stuck with me now. I’ll get you at six, downstairs?”  
“Okay.” Brooke smiles.  
“Okay.”  
I stand in her doorway for too long smiling back.

It’s only when I’m halfway down the hall that she calls out, “How did you even get in here?!”

I laugh the entire glacially slow elevator ride down to the lobby.

 

 

  
Brooke.

My sister’s girlfriend is in the closet.  
Like, actually, physically, in our way too small wardrobe.

“So that’s a hard no on the pink dress?” Sara’s voice is muffed beneath the layers of clothes.  
“No.” Lake and I respond simultaneously.  
“God, no.” I repeat flopping down across my bed.

I’m topless, save for my own bra, but Sara’s forced me into Lake’s leather pants and a pair of her heels.  
I wonder, not for the first time since meeting Jack Avery, how exactly I ended up here.

“Okay!” Sara emerges from the closet with a shirt hefted into the air, “This is the one.”  
“I need a tank top with that one.”  
“Nope.” Sara shoves it my direction, “You don’t.”  
Lake looks up from her sketchbook, “That’s completely sheer, babe.”  
“Not completely.” Sara makes a hurry up motion for me to put it on.  
I squint but do as she says. Sara is about a million times more fashionable than I’ll ever be, but this still looks pretty weird in the mirror. There’s embroidered daisies on the shirt, which obscures at least part of my skin, but I can see my belly button.  
“Perfect.” She declares, dusting off her hands, propping a hip up against Lake’s bed.  
Lake reaches out to snag a beret that’s clung to the back of her girlfriend’s sweater, “This has been missing since we moved in.”  
“I told you I didn’t throw it away.” I point at her. It is a terrible hat, but despite my better judgement and Lake’s accusations, I didn’t ‘lose’ it in the move.  
I did ‘lose’ our overalls though. I don’t care who says they’re back in style.  
“Well?” Sara spins to look at her, making jazz hands my direction. Sara is a hand-talker.  
Lake looks me up and down, “Very nice, Brookie.”  
I roll my eyes instead of informing her that she’d have said I looked nice if Sara dressed me in a flour sack, because Sara dressed me. “You can see my bra.”  
“That’s the look!” Sara jumps up to sit next to Lake, “It’s very chic. Plus, it makes you look hot!”  
“Hey now.” Lake pokes her, “Don’t flirt with my sister in front of me!”

I sneak out during the ensuing ridiculous tickle fight, stealing Lake’s nice coat and yelling goodbye only after I’m in the hall.  
I’m glad Lake’s happy. Truly, I am, but seeing her be disgustingly in love makes me sick.

Jack’s name lights up my phone as I’m stepping out of the elevator into the lobby, saving me from weird conversations with whoever is hanging around down here on a Saturday night.  
I spot his curls stepping out of a taxi when I make it outside, “I see you.”  
His head turns my direction and his smile makes my heart do something funny.  
He holds the door open for me, and when I get closer I fully realize what he’s wearing.  
“You’re in a suit.”  
“A tux.” He props an elbow on the car door, “After you.”  
I think there’s less oxygen on the planet when Jack Avery wears a tux.  
He looks damn good dressed up, and I’ve forgotten all the words.

Jack grins as he climbs in after me, joking, “You’ve got great timing”, and while I’m still trying to catch my breath he gives the driver a familiar address.  
“The Met?”  
“I told you it was Eli’s thing, tonight, right?” He bounces his knee, “Her company does the nutcracker. It’s like a fundraiser or something.”  
“I didn’t know it would be there.”  
“Surprise?” Jack’s grin is shy, and I can’t help smiling back.

We talk about nothing important on the ride downtown, both of us are being way more careful than we’ve been before, treading lightly like there’s landmines hiding under our relationship, whatever that might be.  
It’s awkward.  
It’s less awkward when we get to the Opera house, because I’ve never been inside and I’m dying to study the ceiling and staircases. Jack pulls passes from the inside pocket of his jacket and follows me around smirking, until the lights start to dim and he leads me inside the theatre.  
It’s so beautiful I could cry. The chandelier alone is an engineering marvel.  
Jack takes my elbow to lead me to our seats, but I’m so distracted I hardly notice who’s waiting there before we get arrive.  
His entire band is taking up half a row, save two seats between Jonah and Corbyn. The later of whom is sitting with his arm around a pretty dark haired girl who’s laughing, leaning out of her seat to talk to some other girls up the aisle.  
We have to step over everyone to get to our spots. They seem, surprisingly, genuinely happy to see me. When the lights go out, Jonah leans over to whisper, “We’re glad you’re here.”  
A spotlight comes up on the velvet curtain hiding the stage before I can respond, not that I have anything good to say, and Eli slips out into the light, followed by an equally model-esque guy, tall, curly headed, and skinny just like she is.  
They dimple out at the crowd together, sharing a single microphone. The guy’s in a tux, and she’s in a black dress that looks poured over her to the floor. Together they’re striking.  
“Good evening, everyone.” Eli leans over the microphone, “We’re absolutely thrilled you all could be here tonight.”  
The guy takes over, “We’ve had a massive year at Attitude,”  
“Over sixty awards won in the national arena, three American Ballet Theatre students recruited from our program, and six deserving seniors admitted into Julliard.” There’s a huge round of applause when Eli finishes that list.  
“It’s all because of your generosity. Without your support this program,” The guy places a hand on her waist.  
“And, truly, every program we preform,” Eli cuts in.  
“Simply wouldn’t happen.” He finishes, “We along with each and every one of our dancers are so thankful for you.”  
“Tonight,” Eli smiles looking somewhere specific in the crowd, “We’d like to extend a very special thank you to our families. Without you, we would not exist.”  
“You’re the real stars,” The guy winks.  
Eli takes the microphone back, “But we know you didn’t come here tonight to listen to us gush…”  
“And our dancers have worked incredibly hard to put on this show for you tonight.”  
“So, please, sit back and be moved in the Christmas spirit in our very own Attitude Production of the Nutcracker.”  
There’s more applause as they duck back behind the curtain, before the guy sticks his head out again into the light, “And if you’re feeling especially moved, there’s donation boxes placed throughout the lobby and at each exit!” He gets a laugh as the curtain closes and the ballet starts.

I’ve seen the Nutcracker before. In elementary school I liked a couple of the acts but thought it was long and boring. In high school, I feel asleep during a showing.  
This is not boring.  
Hannah told me Eli was kind of famous, but even the kids are perfect. The acts aren’t even close to what I remember. Instead, they’ve made it a story about finding yourself in dance, with all of the acts in different styles. The only classical ballet act features Eli and her man from the opening doing the impossible. They dance completely outside the laws of physics.

When it’s over they get a standing ovation and I clap so hard my hands hurt.

After the lights come up, we make out way to the lobby. There’s a crowd of people around Eli and the guy Jack’s informed me is her partner, Milo, and our group is forced to cling to the wall.  
The guys are mostly visiting with Corbyn’s girlfriend Christina, and her roommates, who keep trying to draw me into conversation, but I’m watching Jack watch Jonah. Jonah's eyes have been glued to Eli since she walked in the room, and Jack won't quit glancing nervously at him.

Jonah smiles when Eli's head tilts back as she laughs, the movement in her chest making her whole costume sparkle, right down to her minuscule waist and tutu.  
“I’m going to marry her.”  
In unison the rest of our group snap their heads his direction, Daniel and Corbyn jinxing, “What?” in half-horror, while Jack hits Jonah's arm.   
Jonah’s eyes go wide, “No! I mean…” He glances back towards her, “Well, actually. I do mean it, but not now.”  
Eli looks our way then, locking eyes with him immediately, and he mouths something that makes her dimple, even from across the room.  
The band lets out a collective breathe, but I can’t stop myself from saying, “That explains so much.”  
“What?” Jack blinks. Christina’s roommates look confused too.  
I shrug, “He’s sort of stupid around her? My best friend, Hannah, and I figured it was either because she’s scary or hot. I guessed hot.”  
Jonah looks a little embarrassed.  
“It’s the heart eyes.” I smile.  
He waves a hand, “I tried.”  
Daniel sighs, “Bro, you’re so lucky she’s into lovesick puppies.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	10. With The Biting

Jack.

After Jonah confessed his undying love in front of a group of mostly strangers and the band, Eli appeared to whisk him away to meet her grandparents. His face was pure terror, and the rest of us got to watch gleefully while he tried in vain to be cool.  
She returned him in exchange for Milo and Jayden who’d wandered over to witness Jonah’s suffering with us, before disappearing to go change.   
Our group is going out tonight, because Christina’s roommates love to party, Corbyn loves Christina, and the rest of the band is always up for anything, but Brooke looked so hesitant I found myself informing them we were going to look around the theatre and wait for Eli.   
Zach has to physically haul Jonah away, but Brooke and I are finally alone.

“So, that was crazy.” Brooke sits down on a bench looking out all the windows at the front of this building, tucking her knees up into her jacket.  
“Which part?” I move to stand in front of her, blocking her view.  
“The dancing,” She looks up at me. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”   
“Me either. I see Eli dance all the time, but it’s still ridiculous.”   
“Well, yeah.” Brooke rolls her eyes, “Regular people can’t move like that. They make what you do look like a joke.”   
“Hey!” I push lightly against her knee, “I work hard at what I do.”  
“I know.” She smirks, “But they make it look totally effortless.”  
“It’s not.” Eli’s voice makes us both jump. She’s tucked under Milo’s arm, Jayden and their friend Colton trailing behind them, “But effort should only ever be seen in your feet.”  
“Not your face.” Milo smiles, charming, holding out a hand for Brooke, “I’m Milo.”  
“Brooke.” She stands, stepping past me to shake his hand.   
“That’s Jayden, and Colt.” Milo holds her hand, tipping his head back their direction. They’re ten feet back from us, talking seriously about something I can’t hear.   
“Say Hi to Brooke.” Eli commands, and when they chorus hello Milo finally drops her hand.   
The lights dim once, and Eli starts for the door, “That’s the signal our time is up.”   
Milo falls into step with her, looking over his shoulder, “You’re coming to brunch tomorrow, yes, Brooke?”   
She half-shrugs looking at me. I haven’t gotten around mentioning plans for tomorrow.   
“If you aren’t busy…” I take her hand, “Eli makes the best waffles, and terrible coffee.”   
“Maybe I’ll un-invite you.” Eli scrunches her nose, “Brooke can come on her own.”   
I lift a hand to my heart, “You wound me.”   
“So we’ll see you there.” Milo points at her, and she nods.   
“You’ll like it.” I tug Brooke a little closer when the wind picks up. New York is freezing in December, she wasn’t kidding about that.   
“I believe you.” She squeezes my hand.   
Eli gives me a tiny private smile as she steps up to the curb, one hand extended.  
There’s a taxi there in seconds.   
Eli's friends bundle in first, and as she ducks in behind them, she calls out, “We’ll see you in the morning. Be safe.”

Brooke teases me for my blush at Eli’s words, then my compete inability to run a card through the turnstile after she leads me to the subway.   
I gently hug-tackle her when I finally make it to the other side, and stay in her bubble until we reach her stop, crowded together on the mostly empty subway all the way uptown.

We’re silent on the walk up to her dorm, and stop outside the security doors. I don’t want to go back to my hotel yet. “Can I?” I start, “I mean, would it be alright if…”  
“Come upstairs.” Brooke cuts me off, pushing the door open.   
I nod. “Please.”

We repeat the process I’d gone through with her sister, and I hand over my license readily. When we’re back in her room, she takes off her coat for the first time all night, and I almost swallow my tongue.   
I can see so much of her, and she looks incredible.   
She also looks incredibly uncomfortable.   
Her eyes are unsure, and I know there’s a lot of ground to recover, trust to rebuild, on both of our parts, but right now I’m tired, her bed looks almost as soft as her skin, and I’ve been thinking about what she would taste like for hours.   
“I know I said earlier,” I lean back against her door, “that there’d be no biting until after our first date, but I think that this should count, and I think it went pretty well. So, we should pick up where we left off this morning.” I smirk, “With the biting.”   
Brooke looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, until she realizes I’m joking, then her whole demeanor relaxes.   
She laughs openly, kicking her shoes off in my direction. “You’re such a perv.”   
“It was your idea!”   
She chucks a pillow my way, and I raise both my hands in mock surrender, “It was!”   
She rolls her eyes at me, jumping up to sit on the edge of her bed. “Come here.”   
“Are you going to throw anything else at me?”   
“I guess you’ll have to come here and find out.” Her grin isn’t shy anymore.

When I step into her space, she tugs a curl off my forehead, then watches it spring back into place after she lets go, before she leans in to kiss me.

There’s a spark there, electricity that races through me at her touch.   
Kissing Brooke feels like completing a circuit.

She tastes like Dr. Pepper, and by the time we come up for air, I’ve lost my tie, been relieved of half the buttons on my shirt, and my hands have found the bare skin of her waist.

“So that’s good.” I breathe out, our faces so close her bangs move.   
“Yup.” Her eyelids flutter, but her eyes remain closed,“That’s good.”

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and when I check the time on the screen I want to crush it. “It’s getting late…”  
Brooke doesn’t say anything, but she opens her eyes. They’re so clear this close to mine.   
“I should probably…” I start, but don’t move. “It might be best if I…”  
“Stay.” Brooke fists in my shirt. “Just stay. Not for anything, but we can just…”  
“Sleep?” I finish her sentence and feel her smile, more than see it, pressed against my mouth.

 

  
Brooke.

Jack’s still wearing his undershirt from last night, with crazy wrinkled tuxedo pants, and one of my too big Columbia sweatshirts as we make our way across Manhattan.  
He’s convinced me not to dress up either, insisting that no one will be wearing real clothes at Eli’s place, but I showered before we left, at least.  
I’m regretting that decision too, now that my hair feels nearly frozen in place.

Apparently Eli’s/Milo’s/Jayden’s apartment (Jack hasn’t been real clear on who exactly it belongs to) is a fifth floor walkup. By the time we reach the door, Jack and I are completely breathless.  
I’ve really got to make it to the gym more.  
Jack knocks twice against the red door, and someone yells from inside that it’s open.

The smell hits me first, the whole place smells like icing sugar and bacon.  
It makes my mouth water, and my stomach rumble.

Jack calls out good mornings as we kick off our shoes and I take in the rest of the apartment.  
We might be the last ones here, the band is spread out across the living room into the kitchen. Everyone greets us in various stages of alertness before resuming the things they’d been doing when we arrived.  
Jack walks me to the kitchen, and pulls out a chair at the table where Daniel’s sitting alone staring at a glass of orange juice likes it might contain the secrets of the universe with his head pillowed on his arms.

Eli asks if we had trouble on the 1 train getting here, before going back to her conversation with Milo who’s pressed against her, back to back.  
It takes a minute for it to sink in that they aren’t speaking english.  
Eli speaks Spanish like she was born with it, rolling with her r’s and the rhythm of the words. Milo answers her in a low tired voice with the same pattern.  
She’s wearing the shirt he had on last night when we’d left them at the MET, boxers, and fuzzy socks standing by the stove. Milo has on sweatpants and nothing else, his head tipped back to lay against her shoulder. Their skinny frames line up almost exactly. They make the sort of picture Lake would kill to draw.  
Jonah’s propped up against the doorframe, leading from a hallway into the kitchen, with a coffee mug in his hands watching them with the same straight line smile from last night, his eyes crinkled and happy.

Christina’s laugh steals my attention from the scene in front of me, and her outfit makes me believe Jack was telling the truth that no one would dress up for this. Last night, she looked like she belonged to New York Fashion week. Now, she’s wearing a grandpa sweater and pug socks, curled halfway in Corbyn’s lap on the sofa. Zach’s tucked under Corbyn’s other arm, nodding off and possibly drooling. Nobody seems fussed about it though.  
The whole thing seems… domestic.

“Are you thirsty?” Eli asks, looking over Milo’s shoulder. “We’ve got coffee, water, orange juice…”  
“Milk, tea, Gatorade.” Milo keeps listing. “Apple juice, lemonade…”  
“Water’s great.” I cut in, and it makes him smile. He steps away from Eli to grab two bottles from the fridge, tossing them to Jack.  
“I didn’t know you spoke Spanish,” I direct at Eli.  
She turns towards me, a wooden spoon still in her hand, “My nanny only spoke Spanish.”  
“Oh, that’s cool.”  
“Plus,” Milo returns to her space, draping himself along her back again, this time with his front against her back, tucking a hand under her shirt. “Elijah’s good at languages, anyway.”  
“She speaks four.” Jonah nods her direction.  
“Wow.”  
Eli shrugs, jostling Milo. “I was never a scholar. Math and Science were not for me, but language is music.”  
Milo says something in Spanish while rolling their hips to make her giggle.

Eli’s still intimating, and seeing her last night only enforced that idea, but she’s not what I was expecting when I meet her. She might be supermodel tall, and super handsy with Jack and his band, but she’s sweet.

The front door swings open and their friend Jayden walks in, wearing a suit and tie.  
Milo and Eli straighten up, still pressed together, both of them looking at him.  
“So?” Milo asks after a moment.  
“Seiscientos.” Jayden’s smile is massive.  
Eli drops her spoon, and Milo’s arms go so tight around her I think he might squeeze the life out of her. Spanish flies from their mouths, ecstatic about something I’m clueless about.  
When Milo finally loosens his grip, he turns around to lay along her back again, and Eli dimples at Jonah. He mouths something that looks an awful lot like ‘Congrats, Gorgeous’ while Milo says something in Spanish in a deep voice to Jayden. Daniel chokes, and Eli smacks at Milo’s side.  
“What?” Milo bats his eyelashes, “I’m serious.”  
“You’re serious about what?” A male voice interrupts from behind Jonah in the hall.  
“Six hundred.” Eli calls, but she’s focused on the stove again.  
“Six hundred?” The blonde Chris Evans look-alike from last night, Colton, appears pulling a shirt on. There’s got to be something in the water here, like all of Eli’s friends are incredibly good-looking.  
“Seiscientos.” Milo grins.  
Colton crosses the kitchen to get a mug down from a cabinet next to their heads, kissing both their cheeks, “I’m so proud of you.”  
Jonah’s fist clench, but I only notice because he’s standing close to me. Before I can ask what that’s about, Eli’s calls out breakfast is ready and the apartment erupts into motion.  
It’s well choreographed mayhem until everyone has a plate, and Jack was right, yet again. Eli’s food is the best I’ve had in the city.

  
After the food is gone, and Zach’s gone as far as licking not only his plate but Jonah's too, the guys clean up and everyone piles back into the living room.  
Eli and Milo end up on the floor, Colt drags a chair in closer from the kitchen, Jack and I get mashed into a chair together, while Jayden’s takes the other armchair, Daniel, Zach, and Jonah sprawl on the sofa, and Christina settles on Corbyn’s lap.  
It’s cramped, but cozy somehow.

“So,” Milo leans forward to prop his elbows up on the coffee table, looking at Colton, “Morgan?”  
“No.” Colton doesn’t even look up from his phone.  
“Oh, come on.” Milo whines.  
“No.”  
Milo pouts and Eli pulls him back to her. He crosses his arms over his chest, exaggerating his mood.  
Jayden rolls his eyes, “Don’t frown, Mi. It’s unbecoming.”  
Eli laughs into Milo’s shoulder while he glares at Jayden, “He’ll tell you and Eli about her, but not me!”  
“Because we’re the nice ones.” Jayden smirks.  
“Eli would never give me half the shit you do.” Colton meets his eyes.  
Milo waves a hand, “She’s your ex. You aren’t supposed to tell her anything! It can’t be weirder than telling me.”  
“It is.” Jayden pats at his head, “You make it weirder.”  
“I just want to know how long you’ve had a thing for girls with guy’s names!” Milo dimples, deceptively cute, and Eli laughs so hard it shakes Milo's chest. He tucks his nose against her cheek when he can’t fight his own laugh anymore.  
Colton groans, “This is why.”  
“Wait.” I open my mouth without thinking, “He’s your ex?”  
Now Colton laughs.  
“They’re each other’s first miserable everything.” Milo confirms, shaking his head.  
“Seriously?”  
“Seriously.” Jack answers while Eli nods.  
“We were always better at being friends.” She stretches out her leg to poke Colt’s foot with her own.  
“Eh.” Colton looks right at Jonah, “At least we kissed in public.”  
Eli looks to the ceiling, “We’re not having this discussion.”  
“Oh, really?” Zach leans back, “You haven’t see them do it either?”  
“Have any of you?” Colton challenges.  
Eli glares at him, with the sort of fire in her eyes that’s usually reserved for siblings, burning but in a harmless way, “Colt.”  
“Baby.”  
“Shut up.”  
He raises an eyebrow, “I’m just saying…”  
“I’ve seen them get close.” Milo wiggles his feet.  
“Because you two share a key and no sense of privacy.” Jayden flicks his head.  
“But I still haven’t seen it.” Milo leans away from him.  
“Amour no es in arte de performance.” Eli mutters.  
Milo dimples at her, “Excepto que estas en ese tipo de cosas.”  
Daniel makes a noise, and I put enough pieces together to realize he must speak some Spanish. It would explain his blush. Whatever Milo said came out like a tease.

Eli’s back is to Jonah’s knees, so when he places his hand on her head, running his palm down her cheek to thumb at her collarbone, she sits up, tipping her head back to look at him.  
He smiles at her, and she smiles back, then he leans down to Spider-man kiss her with perfect precision, their mouths exactly aligned.  
Jonah’s hand moves up to hold her neck and I see a flash of tongue before Eli goes weak.  
They break apart soon after that, and Jonah winks at Milo while he settles back into the sofa tracing Eli’s ear with one finger and sipping his coffee like nothing just happened.  
Milo’s mouth hangs open for a second before he starts spewing Spanish at Eli and the guys go crazy teasing Jonah.  
Jonah razes Jack in turn for his walk-of-shame pants, and Jack burns Corbyn for his terrible bedhead.  
It’s funny, and fun, and feels like family. I might have felt like an intruder if I wasn’t tucked under Jack’s arm, but every one of his friends makes an effort to include me, and by the time we leave I really don’t feel out of place.  
I understand then, when we’re being hugged out the door, why Jack likes New York so much.  
This is a place I want to belong to, too.

 

 

 


	11. iPhone Girlfriend

Jack.

Brooke and I end up walking across Central Park to get back to her dorm. I’d suggested it in a ploy to get more time with her, but now the only part of my body not freezing is the hand she’s holding. The wind is absolutely fucking brutal here.  
“How long have they been together?” Brooke looks over at me after a few minutes, swinging our hands, something deep swirling in her eyes.   
“Jonah and Eli?” I tilt my head closer to her, and she nods.   
“I don’t know when they’d count from, but there’s been something there, like, from the minute they met.”   
“Really?”   
I shrug, “He came home and chewed me out for how I treated her, on day two.”  
“When you pitched a hissy fit and stormed out?” She winks.   
I groans, more than a little embarrassed. “I was hoping you’d forget about that.” That story paints me in the worst, most childish light. Especially since now I like dancing.  
“Not likely.” She laughs, then pushes, “So they’ve been a thing since then?”   
“Sort of…” I don’t exactly know how to describe it, “They were just… It wasn’t like they danced around it,” She smirks at my word choice, “But they’re both…”   
“Cautious?” She offers.  
“Yeah. Cautious is a good word.” The wind blows my hair in my eyes, and I have to trust Brooke’s taking me to right direction, because it’s too cold to take my hand out of my pocket to fix it, or drop hers, “Jonah didn’t even tells us about it being a thing for weeks.”   
Brooke looks incredulous, “You live together. How did he keep anything a secret for weeks?”   
“I think it helped he didn’t believe there was anything there to keep secret.”  
“He didn’t think she was into him?” Her face lets me know even her limited interaction with them has proven how stupid it would be to think that.   
I have to laugh, “Oh, no. Everyone knew she liked him more than the rest of us, or at least in a different way. He just didn’t think there was a chance of it going anywhere.”   
“But it did, right?” Brooke gestures with her free hand, “I wasn’t completely sure, if it was just pining until they kissed…”  
“Yeah. They’re a thing. They’re firmly together.” I smirk remembering that stupid bracelet in Jonah’s suitcase. Eli’s going to flip out on him for buying it, then never take it off.   
“Is it?” Brooke starts, then looks away from me. “Is it a contract thing? Them not talking about it? Are you not allowed to have girlfriends?” Her voice is more gentle than usual.   
“No. No.” I try to speak as clearly as possible because, suddenly, this isn't about Jonah and Eli.  “Brooke, when I said I wanted to date you, I meant it. It wouldn’t be a secret. I couldn’t date you on the down-low. Our contracts don’t say shit about girlfriends, I swear.” The words spill from my mouth rapid-fire. We haven’t really talked about what happens from here, and it’s starting to dawn on me that there are a lot reasons for that, most of which might not actually be about me. Knowing her, it’s entirely plausible that she’s avoiding the conversation because she doesn’t think she's going to like how it'll go.  
“By why would Jonah keep it that way then?” Brooke interrupts my explanation. “Why wouldn’t he just come clean about it? He’s in love with her.”   
I blow out a breath, “On the outside, looks a lot easier from him to, like, just leave his hand down when they ask who’s single in a interview, than it would be…" I debate how best to put this, "Fame is a weird thing. I want it, and I’ve always wanted it, but I know there’s a cost.” I look away from her, I’m nervous being this honest is going to make her drop my hand and bolt, “Eli grew up in that world, and she’s been famous in her own since she was sixteen. She knows better than anyone what the guys and I have signed up for. She knows what we’re getting into, and Jonah respects her.” I peek back at Brooke, “I told him, the whole band told him, right after he got honest with us, that if he wanted to tell people, or at least not deny it, we’d have his back. Support them, you know?”  
“Obviously,” She nods, and doesn’t doubt me, “How could you not? He’s your brother, and she’s your... Eli.”   
I have to grin. That’s about the best way to sum it up. Jonah’s family, and Eli is Eli. “But for them, it just wouldn’t look good," I get serious again for the next part, "She’s almost four years older than he is, and we pay her. Not like, directly, but still. Our management pays hers, and Jonah says regardless of anything else, that’s enough to turn the whole thing ugly. He's doesn't think the chance of what they have being spoiled in public could be worth what he'd get out of talking about it.”   
“He’s protecting her.” Brooke isn’t looking at me, but I can tell she understands.  
“He does his best.” It’s an instinct we’re all battling; how to protect who we love, from what we love. Jonah and Corbyn rarely admit that it’s hard, but I know it’s not easy. Even trying to protect my sisters seems impossible most days. 

I’m prepared for it to be more difficult than impossible for Brooke, but I want to try. I just don’t know how to explain that to her yet.

Neither of us speak while Brooke navigates us up out of the park.   
When we reach the subway stop by Columbia’s gates, she gestures behind herself to her dorm, “We should say goodbye here.”   
“I know.” I don’t let go of her hand. “The band’s rehearsing later. Downtown. Maybe you’d stop by?”   
She bites her lip.   
“I know you’re studying, but Christina is too, and she's going to be there. We'd get to eat dinner together?” I aim for my most endearing smile, and biggest puppy-dog eyes.   
She finally shakes her head, grinning, “I guess, if I have the time.”  
“I’ll text you the details.”   
“I’ll see you soon.” Brooke tucks her hair back behind her ears.   
I kiss her, firmly, then jog down the stairs to the subway.

When I glance up from the bottom step, she’s still standing there, and I have to run all the way back up, just to kiss her one more time.

 

 

 

  
Brooke.

  
When Jack leaves, for real, after the second time he kisses me goodbye, I dial the same ten digits I’ve been calling to discuss every important event in my life since I was thirteen.

She answers on the last ring, after I’ve climbed all the stairs and thrown the door to my dorm open.  
“Hey Brookie.”  
“Hannah.” I whisper into the phone, despite being alone in my room.  
It’s maybe the best benefit of Lake dating a sophomore. Sara’s got a single room, and Lake is always there on weekends.

“So he’s a good kisser then?” Hannah sigh-giggles.  
I laugh back, half-hysterical, “Oh my god. Hannah, I kissed Jack.”  
“Thank God.”  
“Oh. My. God. Hazza.” I throw myself down on my bed, still wearing my boots.  
“Come on, Bee. You can’t be surprised. There was no way you weren’t going to kiss him.”  
“Actually,” I turn over, “I think there were a dozen ways I wouldn’t have.”  
“I’m rolling my eyes.” Hannah narrates for me, but I would have guessed that without her telling me. “Of course you were going to kiss him. One of us had to kiss them!”  
“Hannah…”  
She just laughs, “In all seriousness, I meant what I said, you know.”  
“I know.”  
“Not about one of us having to kiss them, but about you and Jack.”  
“I know.” I pull my jacket off, flinging it at Lake’s desk chair, and missing.  
“I’ve never seen you with someone so… Right for you.” Hannah settles on.  
“I…” I put her on speakerphone to unlace my shoes, “I hope so. It’s just…” I drop my right boot on the tile with a thud, “It’s sort of terrifying?”  
“What? Jack?”  
“No.” I toss the left boot down too, “Jack’s nothing I can’t handle. It’s the rest of it…”  
“What has the rest of it got to do with anything?”  
“His career?” I remind her, turning speaker off to wedge my phone between my ear and shoulder, “I just had breakfast with his band, in his choreographers’ fifth floor apartment, which included two a cappella outbursts.”  
“You don’t have to rub it in.” She teases.  
“He invited me to a dress rehearsal later,” I try to stress, “For Madison Square Garden.”  
“I mean…” Hannah starts, then stops. “You know what?”  
“What?”  
“I’m going to let this go. I'm going to let you get away with it for now.”  
“What?” I pretend like I don’t know exactly what she’s letting me off the hook for.  
“You know that I know that you can say you can handle him all you like, but you’re still afraid he’s going to crush your heart.”  
This is the problem with having someone who knows you as well as Hannah knows me, she could see through me from Mars.  
“And…” She continues, “I don’t think that’s going to happen, but I love you, and support you. So, I’m going to let you get away with it for now, because I’m dying to tell you about this kid at the vaccine clinic this morning.”

We stay on the phone for another hour, talking about her adorable British patient, her insane crush on his dad, and the horrific number of hours we both still need to devote to studying for finals before they start.

  
There’s nothing like the enormity of the work I still need to accomplish for Calculus in the next week to remind me that whatever is going on between me and Jack isn’t the only important, or even most pressing, thing I’ve got in my life right now.

 

I still can’t help smiling at his texts begging me to come tonight though.

‘Please’  
‘Please’  
‘Please’  
‘Please’

YouTube link for ‘Please Please Me’

Then a selfie of Jack holding Corbyn in a headlock.  
‘He sent that.’  
‘But please?’

I have no idea how anyone ever tells him no.

 

 

 

 

The subway stop in Brooklyn is a couple of blocks away from the address Jack sent me, which is just far enough to psych myself out.  
It’s not that I don’t want to be here, or that I’m nervous to be around Jack, but even after seeing everyone this morning, I’m still not comfortable with his whole crew.  
And it is a crew.  
The guys have a frankly massive team traveling with them for this tour, and when I finally reach their current rehearsal space (in yet another weird warehouse), I can hear a bunch of voices even outside the door.

Jack texts me as I’m wavering there.  
‘How’s it going?’  
‘Getting close?’  
‘I miss you.’  
‘Can you even get texts on the subway?’

His third text pushes me past my shyness, and I go inside.  
The first room I pass contains a mostly demolished snack bar, and all of the adults members of the team. I walk straight past them, and a few darkened rooms, to where the space opens up and I spot Jack’s curls.  
He’s across the room with the guys, lined up on what might be the least well constructed stage I’ve ever seen. It looks like it’s only being held together with purple ducktape. Jack's sneaking glances at his phone between miming halfheartedly his steps in the choreography.   
I want to tell him to get down from there before he breaks something, but Christina steals my attention before I can speak.  
She’s sitting on a ratty sofa shoved in the corner of the room with Jack’s friend, and the band’s DJ, Eben, and when she notices me her face lights up.  
“You came!” She carelessly tosses her phone behind her as she leaps up.  
My feet move her direction and she flies mine. When she gets close enough she warns me, “I’m going to hug you now.”  
I nod, because I might be nervous around new people, but Christina is just too friendly. I don’t think anyone could not like her.  
She’s also clearly ten times more awake than she was at breakfast. After she releases me, she takes my wrist to haul me over to the couch she’d claimed talking a mile a minute, finishing with, “You know Eben, right? Eben, Brooke.”  
Eben checks me out then grins, “Jack’s iPhone girlfriend.”  
“Not his girlfriend.” I respond on reflex, making it awkward. None of us know what to follow that with.  
Eli saves me before our silence can drag on too long by pausing the music, which makes all the guys groan. She’s standing to one side of the stage, Milo next to her, staring them down.  
“I have never, ever, suggested you do that while dancing.” Eli isn’t frowning, but her tone suggests disappointment.  
Christina and Eben start snickering.  
Daniel cuts a look our way, and he looks like he’s holding back laugher too.  
“Sorry.” Jack rubs at his shoulder.  
“Sorry.” Zach grinds one of his sneakers against the floor.  
“I’m sorry.” Jonah might be blushing.  
“Let’s try it again.” Eli taps her foot, “Without the…”  
“Without the dick grabbing.” Milo finishes her sentence, and I get why the others thought it was so funny.  
Eli does frown then, “Sure. Thanks for that, ‘Lo.”  
“Anytime, mi alma,” He dimples, “I think the thing to remember is.”  
“Nope.” Eli tries to cover his mouth, but he half-leaps away from her.  
“The thing to remember is, you don’t need to remind people you have one.” Milo sticks a hand out in front of his crotch the second before Eli kicks at him, smoothly catching her foot to tug her into his space. If I hadn’t seen them dance last night, I would be more impressed.  
I’m still pretty impressed.  
“That’s enough, Milo. Gracias.”  
“De nada.” Milo grins at her, with too many teeth and playful eyes.  
Jayden interrupts then, walking back into the room with a paper menu in one hand and a phone in the other, “Dinner will arrive in twenty!”  
“Thank you, twenty!” The band, Eben, Eli, and Milo chorus together, leaving Christina and I to raise eyebrows at each other. I think Christina is going to ask what that’s about when Milo drops Eli’s leg to go mess with the sound system, and Jayden addresses Eli, “I do so like how you train them, baby.”  
She smirks, “El talento no tiene sentido sin modales.”  
“Eres solo viega escuela.” Milo calls back.  
Eli shrugs, “Hay una razón por la cual cosas siempre se hacen de la manera en que las cosas siempre se hacen.”  
“Si, pero…” Milo runs to jump up on her back, wrapping his legs around her waist and arms around her shoulders, to give her what seems like a lecture in Spanish. If he’s heavy, Eli gives no indication, walking towards the sound system herself to finish whatever he was supposed to be doing.  
Before she can start the music either, she spins back to face us, “Oh, Jay, I forgot to tell you this morning. Brooke’s the artist I told you about.” She points my direction.  
“For the LA project?” Jayden looks me over clinically, but I don't know what she’s talking about.  
“Yes. I think she’d be great.” Eli nods her head, precariously close to knocking it into Milo’s.  
“What project?” Jack interjects for me, clearly listening to our conversation, instead of whatever the rest of the guys have circled together to talk about.  
“Our designer in Los Angeles is a flake,” Milo elaborates, “Eli thought you might be interested.”  
“I don’t really…” I try to sink down enough to disappear into the sofa. It doesn’t work.  
“You’re good.” Eli stares into me, “It’s okay if you aren’t interested, but don’t discount what you can do. I’ve seen it. Your rendition of the Met was perfect.”  
“And we’d pay you.” Milo gets down from Eli’s back, “Whatever we were paying that other guy. Which was…” Milo wanders over to Jayden. “Some money?”  
Jayden makes a face.  
Jack laughs loudly on stage, “The two of you would be flat broke if you had any financial control, like, at all.”  
Eli shakes her head, but doesn’t deny it.  
Milo pats Jayden’s shoulder, “Why do you think I’m marrying him?”  
“To keep your assess off the street?” Christina teases.  
“It’s a good thing he likes mine so much, no?” Milo shimmies a little.  
Eli looks away from him, but her dimples betray her smile, “Okay. Back to work. Jay, give Brooke your number so she can think about it.”  
He gives her a two finger salute, and Milo returns to her side when she starts the music.  
“Eli’s a pretty tough critic,” Jayden pulls a chair up closer to Christina and I. “I believe her one hundred percent when she says you have talent. So, maybe I get you the details, and if you still aren’t interested, I can tell them you told me to piss off?”  
“I wouldn’t say that.” I blush. Telling someone, anyone I don’t know that well, to piss off is about ten shades bolder than I’d ever aspire to be. Sarcasm is my second language, but telling a hot older guy in a suit to piss off is just not going to happen.  
“Never say never.” Christina grins, kind of wicked, “Wait until you come to the boys’ show in New Jersey with me, you’ve gotta tell loads of people to fuck off in New Jersey.”  
“I’m going to the show in New Jersey?” My mouth gets away from me, and Christina looks at me like ‘Duh.’ I decide to ignore that for now, and turn back to Jayden, “So what exactly is it you want?”  
Jayden spends the next twenty minutes explaining Milo and Eli’s idea for new logos specific to each city their company has a studio in. I can see it before he’s even finished explaining, how killer it would look as a mural on the warehouse in California, and even though I know I’m under-qualified to do it, I'm already dying to get it down on paper.

 

 


	12. Hello

  
Jack.

After the aroma of pizza has permeated every inch of our rehearsal space, Eli decides to let us down from the stage, and everyone crowds together around the tiny coffee table in the corner where Christina, Eben, Brooke, and Jayden have camped out.   
There’s full tables, with forks and napkins, and enough chairs for everybody in room down the hall, but no one thinks to question tucking into the food while squeezing together on the sofa and the floor.   
I steal one of the few chairs, and frown when Brooke settles next to my feet on the floor. I was sort of hoping I’d get her to sit on my lap.   
She’s got one lone piece of pizza on a napkin, and has materialized a pen from somewhere. I hadn’t even seen her go to mess with her backpack in the mad rush to get at the carbs. Eli would refer to pizza as a ‘nearly never’ food, but on tour she’s way more lenient with our meal plans.   
"Hey," I tap Brooke’s knee with top of my shoe, “You don’t want a plate?”   
She look up at me with half her slice between her teeth, and has to hold a hand over her mouth to finish chewing before she can answer.   
“No, but I’d like your jeans.”   
Zach chokes, loudly, across from me, but I know what she’s asking. “Sure.” I kick my feet out, extending my legs, and pick my plate up off my lap, “Go for it.”   
Brooke shoves the remaining crust in her mouth and sits up her knees.   
The fact that eating pizza like that is the least feminine way to consume it somehow only makes it sexier to me.   
She smiles at me when she finishes chewing, and uncaps her pen to get to work.

I watch her around bites of my own dinner, feeling the heat of her palm on my knee and the featherlight movement of her pen drawing against my pants, until Zach draws me into his discussion.

“Jack?”  
“What?” I don’t look up.  
“Jack.” He whines, and points at Christina when I turn towards him. “Tell her romance novels are silly and dumb.”   
“No.” I answer immediately.   
“What? Why?” Zach cries, “Fifty Shades of Grey and Twilight are, like, the stupidest books ever.”   
“Nope,” Christina sits up primly in her seat on the sofa, which she somehow managed to keep to herself, and opens her mouth, but before she can speak Corbyn’s leans forward on armrest beside her pointing his pizza crust at Zach, “And when was the last time you read a book, bro?”   
“I don’t know,” He shakes his head a bit, “What’s that got to do with anything?”  
“Those books sold million of copies. Millions, and everyone and their sister read them.” Christina responds.  
“Fifty Shades wasn’t that bad.” Corbyn mumbles around what I’m pretty sure is his sixth slice of pizza.   
“Bro. You read that?” Zach’s eyes are huge.   
Corbyn shrugs, “Christina loaned it to me.”   
“It wasn’t my favorite,” She confirms, “But that’s besides the point.”  
“But now I’m curious, man.” I have to butt in, smirking at them, “How much of it did you try?”  
Corbyn throws a pepperoni right at my forehead, Jonah and Daniel give me disapproving looks I know they don’t mean, while Christina laughs defiantly. Brooke tries to stifle her giggles against my leg, but it doesn’t work since I can feel her shaking.  
I eat the pepperoni in one bite, and settle back into my chair to watch the lecture Zach’s in for.   
He’s grown up, a ton, since we formed the band, but he still gets schooled by Christina, or Eli, or someone’s sister, every couple of weeks.   
“Saying romance novels are trash is just insulting. It’s like, all the things girls could like, we’re not supposed to.”  
“Such as?” Daniel asks sincerely, his head tilted to one side.  
“Pretty much anything. If you’re a girl, you can’t enjoy anything. And god forbid, if you do, then it can’t be cool.” Christina looks back at Zach, “Romance novels are pretty good. Boybands,” She gestures vaguely around at us, “make great music. Being interested in clothes and makeup isn’t vain, and will help in life. But instead of telling girls that, we just tell them the stupidest shit. It drives me bananas.”   
Eli, and then Brooke, extend their hands Christina’s direction for her to high-five them.   
“Society belittles girls for genuine interest in anything by claiming culture,” Eli ruffles Zach’s hair from her place beside him on the floor, “Don’t buy it.”   
He nods. “But Fifty Shades?”   
Jonah smacks a hand on Zach’s back from his other side, “Someday, when you’re older.”   
The rest of us laugh at the embarrassed blush and indignant look on Zach’s face. When I get it under control, I look down at Brooke and her sketch.

The skyline of New York City has bloomed on my thigh, with the word ‘Attitude’ rising up behind it like the sun.   
It’s insanely well done. “Jesus Christ, Bee.”   
She jumps a little, leaning back from me, “It’s just an idea, and I really need a ruler, and…”  
“Brooke.” I cut her off, “That’s crazy good.”   
Her cheeks go pink, glancing up at me.   
Milo leans over from his perch on the other armrest of the sofa, then nearly trips over himself leaping up to get a better look. “Joder…” He swears in Spanish.   
I can’t understand a word he says after that, but it gets Eli up to look at my leg too.   
Brooke colors even more at all the attention, slouching down to make herself smaller.   
“… Mi alma. That is so much cooler than I imagined.” Milo switches back to english, and I see him squeeze at Eli’s hand out of the corner of my eye.   
“Told you so,” Eli dimples at him before turning to Brooke, “Truly, that’s perfect. You should really consider the job.”   
“You should just take the job.” Milo grins, “She doesn’t want to scare you off by begging, but I’ve got no such qualms, and my fiancé has your number. If you don’t take the job, you can expect dozens of sad faces in your inbox.”   
This commotion gets everyone else’s attention, and then there’s ten people closing in around us.   
“How are you so talented?” Christina asks in friendly anguish. The other guys makes various comments in agreement, but Brooke is still trying to make the floor swallow her.   
Just the set of her shoulders would have been enough to tell me she’s overwhelmed, so I rest my hand on her back, then address our crowd, “Hey. It’s my leg. Where’s all my compliments?”  
Jonah gets what I’m doing instantly, “Good job, Jack.” He throws out, moving to steal a chair.   
“Yeah, bro.” Corbyn pulls Christina away, “You’re a great canvas.”   
“It’s really a job you’re meant for, man.” Daniel adds.  
“Totally. You were born to sit still and look pretty.” Corbyn finishes, and Zach snorts so hard his sprite comes out his nose.

I love those idiots. Seriously.  
And I’d take their trash talk a dozen times over for the way Brooke relaxes under my fingers.

 

 

  
Brooke.

“So… You’re not Jack’s girlfriend?”

Christina is on the couch opposite from where I’ve situated myself sideways in a chair, all our books spread out between us on the table. We’ve been studying in relative silence, minus the boy’s soundtrack, for nearly an hour after they’d finished the pizza and been coerced back up on stage by a controlling but endless patient Eli.  
Honestly, I’d have lost my mind by now if I had to keep giving the same comments for a routine Jack told me they’re supposed to know by heart.  
Eli roped Eben into running the sound system after Jayden and Milo went home, which left me and Christina alone in this corner of the warehouse.

It’s not exactly private, but I doubt anyone could hear us over the music anyway.

“I…” I really don’t want to answer her question. “I don’t know.”  
Christina’s face is comically skeptical, “I just met you last night, but I already know you’re smarter than that.”  
“I just mean…” I pick at the fuzz pilling on my sweatshirt. “I’m not sure.”  
“Well.” She licks her fingers to turn a page in the textbook open in front of her, “Do you want to be?”  
“That’s not the issue.”  
“You’re sure about that?”  
I close my own textbook, and hug it to my chest. “Of course, I want to be his girlfriend, but it’s not that simple.”  
“Why not?” She dares me to tell her.  
“Because,” I survey my books spread out on the table, the notecards spilling from my backpack, and Jack dancing up on stage, “I barely have my life together, but it’s normal.” I drag my eyes back to Christina, “I’m normal. Sometimes, a hundred people will like my pictures, not a hundred thousand, and I like that. I like Jack too, but… I can’t afford to be stupid about this, because whatever he thinks, he’s not a regular person anymore.”  
She nods, with real understanding in her eyes.  
“I don’t want to compete with the world for his attention. I can’t, and besides that, being with me could ruin him. I could ruin him, just by being his girlfriend.” Jack’s got a scary legion of fans, and he needs their support. His career depends on it, and I don’t know much about this industry, but I know it’s a fragile one. How could I ask him to potentially, pick me over singing, or ever trust that he would? I've thought about it a lot since our fight, and I know I'm caught up in him right now, but I can't help thinking if I don't name this, it can't break me. A girl can dream. 

  
Christina just looks at me, then raises one eyebrow, “He’d be into that.”  
“What?”  
“You ruining him.” She says, giving those words a far different meaning that what I intended, with the kind of grin that lets me know it’s on purpose. It almost, almost, gets me to laugh.  
Instead, I hide my face in my hands, groaning. “Not like that.”

“Jack.” Eli’s voice makes the music stop suddenly. “Want to try an excuse?”  
I peek through my fingers to look at them. Eli’s facing the stage, with her hands laced together behind her back. Jack’s on the end of the lower part of the stage, and I don’t get why he's in trouble, until I realize that the other guys are up on the platform, and he's staring at me.  
“Ah,” He tears his eyes away the second after we lock them, and turns to Eli, “Sorry, Elijah.”  
She nods once, looking between the two of us, before settling on him, “You’re dismissed for the night. Make sure Brooke gets back to her dorm safely, and be in your room at curfew. I’ll see you bright and early.”  
Jack gapes.  
He literally gapes with his mouth wide open at Eli, like he can’t believe his ears.  
Eli’s dimples appear around her smirk, “Get lost, before I change my mind?”  
“Yeah. Yes.” Jack jumps from the stage and barrels over to me. He’s shoved all my things back into my backpack and stolen the book from my lap before I can comprehend what's happening. He slings my bag over his shoulder and offers me his hand, pulling me up out of my chair and racing outside with the guys laughing and complaining behind us.  
“Why does he get to leave early?” Zach’s voice rings out as Jack slams the door.

  
“I know Eli loves Jonah best, but she’s got a soft spot a mile wide for you.”  
I inform Jack after he’s bundled us and my gigantic bag into a taxi. We had been walking to the subway, when he realized it takes an hour to get to Columbia from here, and quickly changed course.  
“Yeah.” He grins, soft and happy, “She’s always got my back. Plus,” He bounces his knee, “We get each other. Grew up kind of similar.” He coughs once, “I’ll tell you about it someday.”  
“Alright.” I don’t push, because I believe him.  
He nods, looking out the window, “Also, I think I remind her of her brother.”  
I don’t bother to correct him, that I'm sure that doesn't matter, she just likes him as a person. It’s way too easy to do.  
That’s how I ended up here.

“So, you’re going to take that job?” Jack reaches for my hand and I let him take it.  
I watch him examine the black ink smudged over my fingers. “Maybe.”  
“Maybe?” He narrows his eyes at me, “Everyone agreed your work is the best.”  
“They were going to pay a professional.” I tell him point-blank, “I’ve never gotten paid for anything, and I don’t think my sketches are worth nearly what they’re offering.”  
“Brooke.” Jack groans dramatically, “They wouldn’t have offered it to you if they didn’t think you could do it best. You don’t know them like I do, but they’re perfectionists, Eli and Milo both, and they’d never do anything just to be nice.” He smiles, “Whatever they’re going to offer you, you should just take it, and then use it to come visit me.”  
I shake my head, “You’re ridiculous.”  
“I’m right.” He insists, “You can think about it, but in the meantime, I’m not washing these.” He taps our hands against his jeans.  
“Ew.” I turn my nose up in mock disgust, “You’re nasty.”  
“I am not.” He laughs, “They’re art now.”  
“It’s still gross.” I try to lean away from him in the cramped backseat, which makes him laugh harder.  
“Come here.” He wraps his arms around me and pulls me in, until I’m halfway in his lap.  
When I stop laughing and struggling, he presses our foreheads together, “Hi.”  
“Hi Jack.” I study his eyelashes. They’re so dark and full, I’m a little jealous.  
“I didn’t get to tell you hello properly tonight.”  
“That’s okay.” I run my fingers over the patterns shaved into the sides of his hair.  
“No, it’s not.” He lifts one hand to the back of my head, pressing in to kiss me.

When I’ve forgotten how to breathe, Jack leans back slightly. “Hello Brooke.”  
I admire his freckles, and the far-away look in his eyes, then kiss him again, “Hi.” I shift fully into his lap, my knees landing on either side of his legs.  
We keep going until Jack’s hand reaches my skin under my layers of coat, and sweatshirt, and thermal. When his hand spreads out against the small of my back, he moans.  
The sound curls my toes, and makes the cab driver start coughing excessively.  
“Oops.” I  climb clumsily off of his lap, and every time we make eye contact for the rest of the ride, we break into laugher.  
“You’re the most fun.” I tell him sincerely when we stumble out of the taxi in the Upper West Side.  
“Yeah,” He tosses his arm over my shoulder, “Well, I like you too.”

 

 

 

  
I leave Jack outside my dorm, to find his way to the hotel before his bedtime, and take the stairs two at a time until I reach my floor.  
Lake spins around in her desk chair after I open our door, and pushes her glasses down to the tip of her nose, looking at me over the lenses.

“Not you too.” I answer her before she has the chance to ask anything.  
“Yes. Me too.” She spins back and forth, before jerking upright in her chair, “Wait, why me too? Who else have you been talking to? Hannah?”

I consider exactly how long she’d badger me about this, if I dive under my covers and pretend to ignore her. It’s only the memory of her sitting on my chest hitting me with a stuffed animal until she accidentally gave me a black eye, just for failing to tell her who invited me to prom, that keeps me from trying it.

“Hannah, and Corbyn’s girlfriend, Christina.” I mumble to the floor while I unlace my boots.  
“So you’re meeting the other girlfriends now?” Lake rubs her hands together like a cartoon villain, wearing my favorite orange sweater.  
“She goes to FIT. Jonah’s is a secret.” I leave my boots in the doorway and cross the room to my dresser.  
“And Jonah is…”   
I try to come up with something she would be able to remember about him, “Tall, Bruce Wayne chin.”  
“Oh. Right. Got it.” She tips back in her chair to prop her feet up on my bed, “That makes sense. Batman can never reveal his true love.”  
“Jeez. You’re such a geek.” I struggle my coat off over my head, “Please don’t spread that around.”  
“My geek-hood, or the secret girlfriend?”  
“The second one.”  
“And who would I tell that too?”  
“Lake.”  
“Brooke.”  
I fling my sweatshirt at her.  
She hasn’t taken her eyes off me since I walked in the room though, so she catches it, then pretends to snuggle it, “I won’t say anything.”  
“Good.”  
“Plus,” She grins at me, “It’s not Daniel’s love life I care about anyway.”  
“Jonah’s.” I mutter, fighting to get my bottom drawer open.  
“Whatever.” Lake pushes her glasses back up her face, “So, about Jack.”  
“Could we not, and say we did?” I take her favorite pajamas out of spite, and as reciprocity for stealing my sweater.  
“So, about Jack.” She starts again.  
“Well, at least you can remember his name.”  
“Warugaki.” Lake snaps, but there’s no bite behind it, “I only wanted to tell you, if he breaks your heart, I’ll break his pretty face and all those curls.”  
I’m tangled up, trying to pull my socks off from under the pajama bottoms, but I stumble over to hug her anyway, “I love you too.”  
She sighs and hugs me back.

There’s a lot of things that suck about being a twin, but some things never get old.  
“Wait. Those are mine!” 

I just laugh shoving her away, then climb into bed.

 

 

 

 

 


	13. Friend for Life

Jack.

There’s a knock on our door after midnight.  
Lights out was an hour ago, but neither Daniel or I have bothered to pretend we’re going to be asleep any time soon.  
He’s got headphones on though, and my bed is closest to the door, so when the knocking starts up again, I force myself up to answer it.  
Christina is standing in the hallway, and when I pull the door open, she charges inside right past me.  
Daniel scrambles to pull the blanket up over his bare chest, “Oh, hey Christina. Corbyn sleeping?” His voice only cracks once. Christina scares him a little.  
She shakes her head, “He’s playing League.”  
“Ah,” I scratch at my stomach. Daniel nods.  
Christina runs a finger along the television stand like she’s checking for dust, before turning to face me, “So. Brooke’s not your girlfriend.”  
I groan. I should have known that was why she showed up. Typically, you need a crowbar to separate Christina from Corbyn’s side when they’re together.  
“I’m aware,” I sit down on the bottom edge of my bed to stare at my knees.  
“Wait.” Daniel straightens up, “I thought you fixed that.”  
“I…”  
“Didn’t,” Christina flings my shoes towards me, “Come on.”  
“What?” I narrow my eyes at her, “Where are we going?”  
She rolls her eyes back at me, “I want a smoothie. You want my advice. We're going to trade.”  
“I want your advice?” I have to snark her.  
“Get up.” She commands, then gives Daniel a nicer smile, “You want something with orange juice?”  
“Yeah, that’d be cool.” He glances towards his wallet sitting on the dresser, then down at his shirtless torso. He lost his pants before getting into bed too, and he’s awful at dealing with Christina. He’s not as bad with Eli, but for being generally good at girls, he’s made an art out of being awkward with other people’s girlfriends.  
Christina waves a hand, “Jack’s paying.”  
“Why am I buying his?” I whine, shoving my feet into the slides Christina gave me.  
“Because,” She tugs the door open with a wink, “Daniel’s too modest to show me his abs.”  
He blushes down probably to his toes, and Christina laughs, but not in a mean way.  
I grumble following her out.

Christina always walks like she’s in Times Square, like she’ll run you over if you don’t get out of her way fast enough. We tease Corbyn that he can never look away, we're always catching him frozen staring at her, if she’s walking away or running towards him.  
I have to hustle to keep up with her right now though, and it’s even more difficult sleep deprived from spending the night on Brooke’s tiny mattress.

When we finally reach the juice place, Christina orders three drinks and me to pay, before towing me towards the tiny cafe table in the corner.  
“So Brooke.”  
“Brooke.” I agree.  
“You want to be her boyfriend?”

If this was anyone else, maybe even Corbyn, I would blow them off.  
If it was anyone else, I wouldn’t be here right now. I would have stayed in my bed, but Christina forced me to like her in a day, right after the band formed, and we’ve been friends ever since.  
And we’re the kind of friends that don’t put up with each others’ bullshit, so despite how much I do not want to talk about this, the look in her eyes makes me honest, “I really do.”  
“But she said no?”  
“No. She just didn’t say yes.”  
“Have you brought it up again?”  
I pick a quarter out of my pocket to roll on the table, “She’s avoiding the conversation.”  
“You’re sure?”  
“Yes. I know her. I know when she’s avoiding things.”  
Christina stop the quarter from rolling off the side, “You do want it all, right?”  
“Her as my girlfriend?” I can’t tell what she means, or if that’s a slight against me or Brooke.  
“It’s…” She spins the coin, “It’s more than that, being in a relationship. You get that, right?”  
“I’ve had girlfriends before, Christina.”  
“Not like this you haven’t. You think you know what you’re getting into, but you’ve got no fucking idea.” She wrangles her hair up out of her face, “The good news, for you at least, is neither does she. Not completely.”  
“I talked to Jonah about it.” I confess as her name is called. She hold one finger up to me, bouncing to the counter to retrieve our smoothies. Christina ordered us both some weird green thing, but I take it without complaint when she trusts it my direction.  
She settles back in her chair, sighing happily after a sip of her smoothie, before addressing me, “We both know Jonah’s different.”  
That’s true, but… “It was helpful.”  
“Well, yeah. He keeps Eli happy, but, like,” She gestures between us with her smoothie, and I try mine. It isn’t repulsive.  
“You and I are more the same.”  
I nod. That’s why we’ve always gotten along. We see eye to eye.  
Jonah’s the grown up, who cares about stuff, like where we’re sleeping and getting enough exercise.  
I, meanwhile, want to break stuff and push the boundaries. I still feel like a kid somedays, and I don’t see a problem with that.  
“You’re not going to be a rock, not for anybody.” Christina points out, kindly though, because she isn’t that type either, “But you can be a rebel and still be hers, Jack. You’ve just got some work to do to prove you’re her rebel.”

I study the shiny ‘Corbyn’ necklace on her clavicle.  
Christina is loud, independent as hell, and talks a lot of shit, but she’d yell her love for her boyfriend from the top of every building in this city. She is so proud of him.  
She basically already has.

“Do you think…” I chew on my straw, “You met Brooke. Do you think she even wants that?”  
“You’re an idiot.” Christina stands up, and I lift my chin to look at her. “You’re a complete imbecile if you think that girl doesn’t want to keep you. She watches you like you’re the fucking sun.” She sweeps Daniel’s drink off the table, “Like you’re her reason to wake up in the morning. Like you’re too much full on, but she can’t go without.”

My mouth hangs open for a second, but Christina just tosses her empty cup in the bin, then leaves, making me rush out of my chair after her.

Christina hands me Daniel’s drink when we get to my room, and I still her by grabbing her elbow, “Thanks.”  
She shrugs, “Us extroverts gotta stick together.”  
I shake my head, “I know you could have been with Corbyn, so I meant that; Thank you.”  
Christina smiles, “What can I say, I love love?”  
Her mention of the L-word makes all the blood drain from my face, and when she notices, she beams.  
“Oh, boy.” She pats my shoulder, “Listen, I like Brooke. She’s steady and smart and shy, and you… are not most of those things.”  
“Hey!” I manage a weak protest.  
“But,” She keeps going, “I think she’ll be good for you, and you could be good for her too. Seriously, this time, don’t fuck it up.”

Christina’s already let herself back into Corbyn’s room by the time I ask, “How many times are you going to tell me that?”  
It’s probably for the best that she’s already gone, because I don't think I want to know the answer anyway.

 

  
Brooke.

My phone is ringing.  
I was up half the night, thinking about Jack then working on an equation trying not to think about Jack, and now my phone is ringing.  
At seven thirty in the morning.  
I am not a moring person.

  
It keeps ringing.  
I very nearly drop it into my water glass instead of answer.

“Good morning, Brooke.”  
“No.”  
“Come on, don’t be like that.”  
“Go away.”  
“Not enough sleep last night, huh?”  
“What do you want?” I growl.  
“Well, sleepyhead, I’ve been at rehearsal for an hour already, so for starters, you could be more excited to hear my voice.”  
“Jack.” I whine and he laughs.  
“So, it’s been brought to my attention that I might have, maybe, forgotten to mention that my mom and sisters are in town, and coming tonight.”  
“What?” Please, God, let my half-awake brain have heard that wrong.  
“Yeah, so, they’re, like, crazy excited to meet you, and we’ll all get dinner together after the show, and it’ll be great!” He rushes out, his rambling nervous tick, “Okay, I’ll see you later. You should get some more sleep! Bye!”

I’m left blinking sleepily at my phone, before I knock my head into the wall a couple times.

 

 

‘I hate you.’

 

‘Nah.’

‘I do.’

‘Don’t think so, bae.’

‘Bee’  
‘Think you mean: Bee.’

‘Nope.’  
‘Bae.’

‘You’re the worst.’  
‘And I hate you.’  
‘And it’s too early for this.’

‘Are jeans still okay?’

  
‘Wear anything as long as you come.’  
‘They’re gonna love you.’

‘Promise.’

 

 

Eli is, somehow, the one to escort me to the green room, meeting me outside Madison Square Garden with my V.I.P. pass and a smirk.  
She weaves through the arena making me feel clumsy, then stops down the hall from a room with a sign reading ‘Why Don’t We’.  
“Jack's sisters are Sydnie, Ava, and Isla.” Eli dusts the shoulder of my jacket, “Isla likes everybody, but ask her about vlogging. She’ll talk your ear off about crafting too. Syd’s the one you will have to work for.”  
“The oldest?” I piece together the stories Jack’s told me about them.  
Eli nods, “She is the most protective. Ava's great, and she is close to him too, but she’s not quite a grown up yet. Syd says she and Jack are ride or die.”  
“Okay.” I fix my posture, “YouTube and glitter for Isla, watch my back around Syd.”  
“And their mom is Mrs. Sanford,” Eli turns down the hall, “Not Avery.”  
“Why are you telling me this?”  
She smiles at me over her shoulder, “Jack’s idea of not scaring you was to throw you to the wolves. I know they’re less scary when you name them, and,” She takes my sleeve to pull me forward with her, “He’s chewed his nails off worried you wouldn’t come, so I want you to be comfortable enough to stay. Now,” She pauses in front of the door, “Ready for the chaos?”  
“Guess we’ll find out?”  
“That’s the spirit.” Eli smirks, then leads me into the room.

  
I didn’t realize green rooms were soundproofed until I walked inside.  
I thought Eli was exaggerating calling this chaos, but that might have been an understatement.

There’s people everywhere, and within seconds of our arrival a little girl had launched herself at Eli who scooped her up in a hug then abandoned me to talk to someone I’m certain is Jonah’s sister (apparently, eyebrows are a genetically dominate feature).  
Zach finds me next, a huge grin lighting up his face, “You made it!”  
“I suppose.”  
He hugs me, suddenly, “So, you saw my baby sister. Let’s go find Jack.”  
He speeds away and I follow him, because I’ve only met a handful of people in this room, and there’s dozens. I knew this was a big deal, but it didn’t occur to me that this is the kind of big deal they’d all bring their families to.  
I might be panicking, just a bit, when I spot the back of Jack’s head. He’s talking to a bunch of people I don’t know, and Christina, who sees me then kicks his shin.  
Jack spins around already smiling, and I have to smile back.  
“You came.”  
“You invited me.”  
He takes my hand to present me to what might be every mom in the building before finally introducing me to his own, along with his sisters.

They’re all beautiful, and looking me over like a strange bug in a microscope.  
I shift my weight side to side, and trying to come up with something to say to make this less weird, when Isla notices my shoes.  
I’d picked the white high-tops from my closet without thinking about the snow, or their current state of decoration too hard. I’d sketched Grecian villas on them before Thanksgiving when the cold had gotten to me, and I'd been dreaming of vacation. I would be embarrassed by their sloppiness, but Isla looks at them like they’re the greatest of all time, and when I offer to draw on her shoes, with her mom’s permission, she looks at me like that too.  
“You’ve made a friend for life,” Jack whispers in my ear, and I drawl castles on her tiny shoes until showtime.

 

The show was incredible, not that I doubted it would be.  
Somehow, mostly from Eli’s charm and backstage knowledge together with Christina’s sheer force of will, we ended up at the front of the standing room section, pressed together screaming.  
My throat is sore by the end of their set, but it was so worth it.

Jack is meant to sing. It’s his gift, but also, he looks perfect up there.

  
After the show, everyone spilts up, the boys taking their families out to different places, and Jack dragging me into dinner with his. The Italian place he picks is really underground, and very near Columbia. I’m positive this is not a coincidence when he uses that as reasoning that I have to go.  
When we get there, the place is literally below street level which would explain how I’ve walked past it before without knowing it existed, and his pun about it being 'cool and underground' makes me laugh aloud while all his sisters groan.  
The table reserved for us is in the corner, round and so close to the other people eating that we can hear their conversation, the way every good restaurant in New York is set up. It’s warm and softly lit, and I know before we sit down that I'll be coming back.

  
I find myself pressed between Ava and Jack, and when Sydnie clears her throat from his other side, I swear I see their mom roll her eyes across the table.  
“So, Columbia, huh? What are you majoring in?”  
“Engineering,” I answer at the same time Jack says, “Architecture.”  
Sydnie raises her brows.  
I pinch Jack’s leg under the table, “I haven’t declare a major yet, but I’m leaning towards engineering.”  
Jack removes my hand to hold it, “Columbia got a strong core,”  
“Common core,” I interrupt him laughing, “Strong core sounds like we have a six pack, which I don’t, by the way,” I tip my head Sydnie’s direction, “If you’re going to ask about physical fitness next, I can’t even do a pull-up.”  
Mrs. Stanford looks like she’s trying very, very hard not to laugh.  
Jack grins, “Whatever. Common core. So, Brooke’s got some time, but you’ve seen her shoes. She’s amazing. She’s supposed to draw buildings.”  
I blush, and look away from him, which means I end up meeting his mom’s eyes.  
“You’ve got a talent for it, that’s for sure. Isla’s shoes look like a Disney post card.” She winks, and I see where Jack gets it from.  
“And where is your family from again?” Sydnie cuts back in, wrapping her arm over Jack’s shoulder.  
“North Carolina, near Greenville.”  
“That’s cool. And the rest of your family?” She presses.  
“North Carolina too. My dad only left for Columbia.” I blink innocently. Of course, I know what she’s attempting to ask, but I don’t feel like making this easier on her, and she doesn’t seem like the type to award points for politeness anyway.  
“Oh. What about their parents, where are they from?”  
“I think my dad’s parents lived in Michigan for a bit, but now they live down the street from my parents', and I don’t really know my mom’s,” Because I don’t speak their language very well, since they didn’t teach my mom, I don’t finish.  
“But, like, where did they come from?” Sydnie has the grace to cringe after she asks.  
“Oh my god,” Jack looks like he could pull his hair out, “She’s third generation, half Japanese, okay?”  
I have the worst time trying to hide my amusement. If Eli hadn’t warned me that Sydnie was the toughest, I wouldn’t have played dumb for so long, but watching her struggle for the right level of rude was just too good.  
I think she might be blushing, but it’s Jack who has my attention now, “I really didn’t expect you to remember that.”  
He shrugs, “It seemed important. Plus, your sister kept calling me Yatsu.”  
“Sounds like her.” I snort, surprised it wasn’t worse. Lake retained more Japanese than I did almost exclusively through creative cursing, “She calls me Warugaki as a pet name when I’m annoying her, it’s like brat.”  
“What’s Yatsu mean?” Ava looks up from her phone for the first time in a while. She’s quiet, and shy in a way I can relate to, and I liked her instantly.  
“It’s not that bad,” I address his mom, “Yatsu translates to like, boy or guy.”  
“But it’s a respect thing, right? That's why it’s an insult?” Jack asks, and I have to wonder just how much he’s told his mom about our relationship, and when he did so much research about Japanese cuss words.  
I nod anyway, “Yeah. It implies that you’re kind of… slow.” I settle on for Isla’s benefit.  
“Well, your sister wasn’t wrong.” Sydnie screws up Jack’s hair, and in the ensuing wrestling match between the oldest Avery siblings that puts the table in jeopardy of toppling over, I’m only seventy percent rooting for Jack.  
His family is really great.

 

I’m glad they’re here too, when Jack sneaks me a kiss goodbye while Isla is being dazzled by the sparkling lights on the rows of trees beyond the gates at school, because if they weren’t around the corner I wouldn’t ever stop.

 

 

 

'I miss you already.' 

His message comes in as I'm typing the same thing.

 

 

 

 

 


	14. Insomnia

Jack.

  
The bus is never the same sort of boring that car tripping is, mostly because I can usually get up, walk around, and bug whoever isn’t sleeping. It’s the times when everyone is silent though, when everybody is chilling on their own or working, that make me want to climb off the roof.  
I think that feeling is only partly because I left Brooke in New York, and I’m going out of my mind trying to figure out how to make her mine.

When the idea comes to me, I kick Zach.  
“Yeah?” He glares, pulling his headphone down.  
I grin at him, and he leans in smirking. Usually when we interrupt quiet time, it’s to make trouble, and he’s always down for that. “Go get Eben.”  
He deflates, “Why do I have to go get him?”  
“Because I said so?” I kick him again, making him yelp, and Corbyn laugh across the room.

Eben and Eli are working in the kitchenette of the bus, thus why we’re supposed to be silent. When I’d gone to snag a water an hour ago, Eli had been perched on the counter, laptop balanced on her knee and headphones blaring, oblivious to the world, her fingers flying over the keys while flexing then pointing her feet in fuzzy socks. Eben had taken over the table across from her, pages of things stacked haphazardly next to his laptop and sticky notes everywhere. He’s working on his own music in addition to working for us, which means he’s always working.

Zach comes back dragging Eben into the lounge where the band is all sprawled out. “So?”  
“So. I was thinking…” I drawl.  
“That’s never a good start.” Corbyn cracks.  
I give him my middle finger, then flop down across the whole couch, “I was thinking, Brooke doesn’t believe me when I tell her I want her as my girlfriend. So, I’m going to tell people in interviews.”  
“What?” Daniel spits.  
“She doesn’t think I’m serious. I’m dead serious, I just gotta prove it.” I point Corbyn’s direction, “It was Christina’s suggestion, sort of.”  
He shrugs, “Well…”  
“Have you talked to Brooke about this?” Jonah asks with a neutrality to his voice that makes me look at him. He’s bent over in his chair, hands folded between his knees, his face blank. He’s the one doing this could mess with the most, next to me, and I know he’d never tell me not to do it if I’m set on it, but I still want him to be cool with it.  
“I, uh…” I sit back up, “I figured, I wouldn’t say her name? Then when it gets back to her, she can come to me, but no one can hound her.”  
Jonah nods slowly, but it’s Daniel that answers, “Is she even into grand gestures?”  
I grip the back of my neck, “It’s not really a grand gesture? We get asked all the fucking time, and I just want her to see me,” I glance away from Jonah, “not deny her.”  
“So you can’t just send flowers.” Eben surmises from his place in the doorway.  
“No. Don’t think that’d cut it, man.”  
“Plus,” Zach throws himself down on the couch, banging into me, “Brooke’s not a flower girl, anyway. Maybe if you sent her those cookies Christina got us that one time...” I'm even not going to consider why he's thought about this. I don't want to know.  
“Huh.” Eben lifts a shoulder, “Well, this isn't the worst idea you’ve ever had.”  
“That’s for sure.” Zach holds a hand up for me to shake, and it’s sheer loyalty that has me take it instead of leave him hanging.  
“Why do I never get any respect around here?” I complain.  
Zach snickers and Daniel ignores me,  “If you’re serious…”   
“Yeah. I’m serious. That’s the whole point.”  
“Alright,” Corbyn agrees easily, “It’ll be nice to let you take the heat in the personal questions for once anyway.”  
I have to roll my eyes at that one.  
“Whatever, Bro.” Zach answers, “You don’t hate it.”  
“I mean….”  
The other guys jump in on him, because he can act like he doesn’t love it all he wants, but Christina is still his favorite subject, and we all know it.

  
I manage to corner Jonah later, volunteering us to pick up dinner and rushing out before the other guys can offer to join.  
We’re halfway there, and he's talking about baseball or something I haven't been paying attention to, when I finally ask, “Are you really okay with it?”  
“Okay with what?”  
I give him a look, “You know what. I feel like I’m kinda tossing you under the bus.”  
“Brother,” He shakes his head, “Don’t worry about me. We’re cool.”  
“Dude.” I smack a hand on his back, “It’s not you I’m worried about.”  
Jonah laughs then, his shoulders moving under my arm. “You know she’s not going to care. Of course, she won't.”  
“Sure,” I nod, “Of course, I know that. The woman you’re dating that no one can know that you’re dating will, of course, be totally alright with me telling the world about my not-girlfriend. Of course.”  
Jonah lifts his brows, “Do you really think she wouldn’t be?”  
“I don’t know!” I tug on my hair, “Eli’s…”  
“My mystery girl.” He sigh, tucking his hands into the pockets of his coat. “Look, man. All of the reasons I have to keep my mouth shut, they don’t exists for you, and that’s a good thing. A really good thing, ” He looks kind of far away, "and Brooke makes you stupid, so you should go for it. I told you this weeks ago."   
“But I care, like…” I remember what my sister said, so seriously, with her arms around me watching Brooke walk away, ‘Look at you, growing up, Jacko, giving a shit about other people’s feelings,’ and how she wasn’t wrong. I’ve got a long record of doing what’s best for me first, and realizing what it means for the people around me later. I just want to look before I leap here, because it matters now, “Jo. I’m really trying to do a better job of, like, caring about people. I care about Eli’s feelings.”  
“Jack,” He shakes his head, “I don’t think anyone who knows you would ever think you didn’t care about them.”  
“I mean, like, caring what’s best for people. What’s good for them. I don’t want what I want to fuck up your relationship, okay?”  
He nods again, slowly, “I get that, and she’ll appreciate it, but Eli knows you love her. Let me do what’s best for her, and you do what’s good for Brooke, alright? If you're that worried about it, run it past Eli first, but I know she'll just be happy for you,” He thinks about it for a second, “and smug that she called it so far off.”  
“She what?”  
“Bet me dinner that you’d be sleeping in Brooke’s room by our next show in New York? Yeah,” Cue unfailingly dopey smile, “Milo gave me the name of her favorite place in Miami.”  
For two people as stoic as Jonah and Eli tend to be, they both wear their hearts on their sleeves, even when they’re supposed to be hiding them. I hope my face isn't that stupid around Brooke. 

I listen to Jonah describe their next date night, before what he said soaks in, “Wait. You bet against me?” I punch his arm.  
He laughs, “No, but I said it would take you, at minimum, six months. I figured you’d trip over your game a few times, and then get together. I wasn’t exactly wrong.”

I push him off the sidewalk, grumbling, "No respect."

I notice someone has gotten into my phone to change Brooke's display name to include a bunch of hearts when she messages me after dinner.  
I’m going to blame Zach. 

‘If I don’t survive finals, it was nice knowing you.’ 

‘You’ll survive’

‘Who’s going to ridicule my math skills if you’re gone?’

‘I’m sure someone would step up for the job.’  
‘And, I’d never have to eat another meal at the dinning hall, ever again.’  
‘Might be a win at this point.’ 

  
She attaches a picture of the saddest looking salad I’ve ever seen, and I get a box of everything Insomnia Cookies offers delivered to her dorm, because weird as it was, Zach was right, Brooke is not the flowers type, and it never hurts to double up on grand gestures.

 

 

 

Brooke.

“This has gone on long enough,” Hannah yanks open the curtains in my room, letting the sunlight pour in, and turns to look at me with her hands on her hips.  
I put my pillow over my face. I didn’t go to bed until after six this morning, after being up all night finishing the logos for Attitude studios. Lake is in Connecticut with Sara, meeting her family before Christmas, and if Hannah hadn’t stormed in, I might have slept until two.

“Nope,” Hannah climbs into my bed next to me, yanking the pillow off my face to put it under her head.  
“But…”  
“Nope.”  
“If we’re going to do this, can I at least have my glasses?”  
Hannah hands me the light blue frames wordlessly, but once I get them on I can see the crinkles around her eyes.  
“I like his gumption,” She crosses her feet, still smiling, “I mean, he could have written a song about you, but this is…”  
“Insane. Ridiculous. Certifiably deranged.”  
“I was going to say sweet.” Hannah giggles.  
“Hazza, he’s going around talking about me.”  
“Oh, the misery.” She laughs harder, “A hot guy in a band is telling the world nice things about you.”  
“Hazza.”  
“Brookie.” She rolls towards me, “Have you even watched them?”  
I cringe away, “Not yet. I got a little…”  
She looks over my room. It’s covered, almost floor to ceiling in sketches and drafts. I’ve been working nonstop on the job Eli and Milo offered me since I got home after finals, even though they gave me longer to complete it, and I sent what I think will be the final version to Jayden before dawn. I’m still not sure if I’m good enough for this, but at least I’m comfortable here with my pencils and ink. Jack’s roughly three thousand miles past my comfort zone.  
“Carried away?” Hannah finishes for me, reaching down to pick up a page on the floor, “This is so cool.”  
“I know. It’s a crazy interesting concept.” I pull a page off the wall, this one the nearly finished Los Angeles copy.  
“I meant your art, Bee,” She examines them, “You’re worth every dime they offered you.”  
I shrug, “Thanks, Haz.”  
“Well, you are,” She holds out her phone to me, “Now, back to Jack. These are my personal favorite.”  
Hannah clicks play, and I fight the urge to cover my eyes again.

  
“So, you’re all young, good-looking guys,” Some radio interviewer leers over the band, all of whom are grouped together around two microphones, looking equal parts exhausted and excited. I think this might have been the Atlanta show, judging by Jack’s outfit. He’d been surprised by the cold when he FaceTimed me that night.  
“Is all this helping you with the ladies?” The interviewer grins.  
I want to cringe for them, but on camera, none of the guys do.  
“Well,” Daniel shrugs, “It isn’t hurting.”  
He gets a laugh from the rest of the band, and the interview leans in closer, “How many of you are still single, then?”  
“Most of us.” Daniel replies.  
“How about a show of hands?” The interviewer suggests, still acting like he’s cool.  
They all raise their hands slowly, except Corbyn and Jack.

Oh. My. God.  
I knew he was doing this. I’ve seen some things about it online, and Hannah screamed on the phone with me for a solid five minutes, but I wasn’t ready to watch it yet. It hits me seeing it with my own eyes, how truly insane this is, and I almost can't believe he did it. 

“So you’ve got girlfriends.” The interviewer zeros in on them, “Corbyn, isn’t yours someone our listeners might know?”  
“Uh, yeah,” Corbyn nods excessively, grinning, “Christina Marie, she has a YouTube channel.”  
The interviewer tries to wiggle his eyebrows, “Very nice, and what about you Jack? Who’s your special someone?”

I do actually cringe at that.

Jack, though, he smirks, “She is special, but I’m not giving her name out right now.”  
“Come on, man!” The interviewer tries to buddy-buddy with him, “I’m sure inquiring minds want to know who’s got you chained up, or locked down,” He winks, “Whatever’s cool.”  
Jack just sort of stares at him, before half turning towards the camera, “I actually just care that she knows.” He says it with a finality even the boneheaded interviewer seems to understand, and the conversation moves on, but I make Hannah play Jack’s last sentence five mores times.

  
Oh. My. God.

“This one is my favorite.” Hannah clicks on another clip.  
“How many of these are there?”  
“Hush!” She restarts it.

 

 

“Is there anything you’d like to tell us, Jack?”  
I can’t see the guy that asked this question, he’s out of frame, but the band is lined up on stage somewhere. Jack’s in the far corner of the stage sitting next to Corbyn, spinning around on their chairs like idiots.

I have to smile, and wonder who thought giving them spinning chairs was a good idea to begin with.

  
The guy clears his throat off camera.  
“Yo, Jack.” Zach gets his attention, then tips his head the direction the guy must be in off camera.  
“What’s up?” He stops spinning by grabbing Corbyn’s shoulder. His hair is a mess.  
“I’ve heard tell about a girl?” The guy repeats.  
Jack grins, “Sure.”  
There a general ‘oooh’ noise in front of them, probably a crowd, but he doesn’t say anything else.  
“Wanna tell us about her?” The guy tries again.  
“She’s funny, and cute, and like, way too smart for me.” Jack shrugs.  
“That’s true.” Daniel leans into his microphone over the guitar he’s cradling in his lap, then handshakes Zach.  
“So the rest of you have met her?” The guy off camera sounds excited.  
“Yeah, B…” Jonah pulls Zach straight off his seat by the back of his shirt, stopping him before he has the chance to finish that statement. The other guys roll their eyes.  
Zach coughs, his eyes the size of saucers at that almost mistake, “Yeah. Yeah, she’s great.” He emphasizes the ‘she’, like he didn’t almost just say my name, while he sits back down.  
“I take it her name is still under wraps, then?”  
Jonah swoops in to save the day. “She’s in college. We’re just giving them some privacy,” He states firmly, then launches into a funny story about Zach spoiling everything (all three jugs of orange juice and a week’s worth of leftovers) in their fridge and flooding the kitchen when he tried to make ice.

 

Sensing my inability to form words, Hannah starts the next one without comment.

 

This one is with a female interviewer, backstage at a venue they played a few days ago, and she’s clearly done her research.  
“So, Jack.” She focuses on him, smiling sharply.  
“So, Kylie.” He smiles back easily.  
“I’ve seen that you’ve been running a bit of a media operation.”  
“And how’s that?” He leans on Zach’s shoulder to speak into the microphone Zach’s holding for them.  
Kylie leans in, conspiratorially, “Well. I was told you’re going around telling the world about this great girl, who may or may not be your girlfriend. Twitter is going wild about it.”  
“That’s true.”  
“But you won’t confirm anything, even her name,” She plays with the microphone cord, “So it seems to me that you would only be doing that if you were still trying to talk her into being official with you.”

If she wasn’t, like, thirty, I’d think she was flirting with him. She might be anyway.

“That sounds about right,” Jack winks.  
“So, does she know about your little campaign?”  
He nods once, “Yeah. She knows.”  
“And is it working?”  
Jack licks his lip, pointedly looking into the camera this time, “Well, she hasn’t told me to stop.”

 

 

  
“Oh. My. God.”  
“That one nearly went viral.”  
“Oh, my God. Hannah,” I shake her, “I’m in love with that moron.”  
“I know, Brooke,” She shakes me back, “What do you think we’re doing here?”

The absurdity of the current circumstances of my life make me laugh hard enough I start crying, which makes Hannah laugh wildly too.  
We only pull ourselves together when my mom checks in on us, before breaking again, when she walks away shaking her head muttering about ‘crazy girls.’

“Okay,” Hannah throws her arms out, still laughing a little, “So, how are you going to tell him?”  
“I have to tell him?”  
She rolls her eyes so hard I think they might get stuck, “Duh.”  
“Can’t I just, like, text him?” I offer, and she squints at me.  
“He’s made this big thing for you!” Hannah shoves her phone in my face, “You can’t just text him something like that.”  
“Fine.” I sigh, “What do you suggest?”  
The look on her face lets me know I’m going to regret this before she even opens her mouth.  
“Well, do you still have Eli’s number?”

 

  
Hannah dusts her hands off dramatically thirty minutes later with her plan already in action, and my stomach fills with dread.  
“Haz.”  
“What, Brookie, I told you this was going to work. It’ll be great!” She opens my texts, typing in something.  
“Haz.”  
Her head snaps up, “What?”  
“I have to tell my parents.”  
She doesn’t laugh, mercifully, but she looks dangerously close to cracking, when she slings an arm over my shoulders and says, “Well, maybe telling them that you switched your major first will soften the blow?”  
I groan, collapsing back into the pile of pillows on my bed, “This was not the plan.”  
Hannah starts singing some country song about God laughing, and because she’s my best friend, I don’t smack about her, but I think about it.

 

 

 

 


	15. Graffiti Proposal

Jack.

Jonah volunteers to pick me up from the airport after New Years, thrilled with the opportunity to drive anywhere now that he has his car in Los Angeles. Eli gave him a key and clicker to her garage for Christmas, and paid to have his car shipped out. His pure bliss over that has given the group chat plenty of ammunition with which to drag him. Regular people do not get that happy about a car, but even our endless teasing hasn’t dulled his enthusiasm.  
“So,” Jonah turns his blinker on, merging into the highway, “Did you have a good flight?”  
“Yeah,” I mess the visor, three weeks at home and twice that many on tour, and I’ve forgotten how sunny it is here. My sunglasses are somewhere lost in the abyss of my suitcase, “It was fine. There was this baby three rows up from me, and they…”  
“Cool,” He cuts me off, “Eli needs us to stop by the studio to give her a hand with something real quick.”  
“Uh, okay?” I agree, and he nods still looking at the road.  
He’s being weird, so I tell him about taking Isla to Disney World, how Ava won’t stop crying about going to Italy, and Sydnie’s freakout over her present too.  
Jonah only says about ten words in the thirty minutes it takes to get to the studio.  
Something is definitely up.

I’m about to call him on it, when his phone starts ringing.  
“That’s my mom.” He unlocks the doors, “I’ve got to take it, could you go ahead in? Tell Eli I’ll be right there?”  
Jonah’s already answering his phone, so I shrug and get out. The Studio is dark, closed today apparently, and I nearly run into Eli in the lobby.  
She’s in sweats, her hair tied up, and on the phone speaking Spanish.  
“Milo?” I ask, and she nods while wrapping me up in a tight hug.  
I’ve missed her. It’s weird how home went from being the house where I grew up and the family I was born with, to including the people here too. The band, Eli, our crew, they’re all family now, so something’s always missing, no matter where I am. It makes leaving my mom way easier though, knowing I get to come back to this.  
“Glad you’re home. Go on back, I’m going to… ocultarse.” Eli brings her phone up to her ear and walks out the door.  
“Glad to be back…” I tell the dark lobby.

 

Attitude’s studio is where the band spends the most of our waking hours when we’re in California, because we’re always rehearsing for something, so I know this building like the back of my hand. I’m still clueless about what I’m walking into, but I head the direction the light is coming from, because I might as well find out what is going on.

Nothing seems out of the ordinary until I reach the entrance of the space we always work in. It’s the biggest room in the studio, two walls of brick, glass and mirrors on the others, and always empty of anything except tape. Eli didn’t even have a barre installed here. It’s used exclusively for staging.  
It’s not empty now though.  
There’s cans of spray paint grouped together all over the floor, big sheets of plastic with pieces cut away leaning against the glass, tarps laid out near the back wall, and Brooke, standing next to the brick.

  
The message beside her, clearly spray painted to the wall in her delicate precise capitol letters, reads: ‘Jack, will you be my boyfriend?’ followed by three little boxes labeled yes, no, and maybe, signed with a red heart and her initials.

Brooke looks at me from under her bangs, giving me her shyest smile, then extends her hand, offering a can of paint to me.  
Her jeans have paint on them, and so does her cropped hoodie. I’m across the room in three strides to wrap my arms around her.  
The canister clatters to the floor when she returns my hug.

We’ve been talking.  
Brooke and I are never not talking these days, but I thought I wouldn’t see her until April.

She smells like lavender, aerosol paint, and everything good in the world.  
If she didn’t hate heights so much, I’d pick her up and never let her go again.

“What are you doing here?” I breath into her hair.  
She pulls back to meet my eyes, “I thought that would be pretty obvious,” her smile wavers, “I know it’s not telling every radio station in the country…”  
“I didn’t tell every station.” I hug her again, “Not yet.”  
She huffs, “I know this isn’t what you did, but…” Brooke looks up at her graffiti proposal.  
“Oh, shit.” I drop her and swipe the paint up off the floor.  
I don’t actually know what I’m doing with it, but confidence has gotten me this far, so I point it the direction of the wall, and mark a huge X over the ‘yes’ box.  
Brooke gave me red paint, and it starts dripping before I’m even finished, but it’s clear what my answer is. “How exactly did you get so good at vandalism?” I step back and spin to look at her.

”It’s not vandalism when it’s art.”  
There’s megawatts to her grin now, and I could get high just from looking at her.  
“Yes?” She bites her lip.  
“Yes.” I agree, dropping the can back to the ground, to use both hands to cradle her face.

Kissing Brooke is always like lighting.  
Fire-hot chemistry, instantaneous reactions, explosions in my bloodstream, and nothing has ever been half as good with anyone else.

 

 

We’re on the floor, paint cans in various states of uprightness around us, when Brooke sits back to wrap her arms around her knees and tuck her chin over her arms, then makes my heart stop,  
“I love you.”

There’s paint on her cheek, ink on her hands, and no expectation in her eyes, as she says it.

Brooke tells me she loves me like she explains how trigonometric integrals work; with more fluency than I could hope to achieve, more joy than seems rational, and more understanding than I deserve.

 

My pulse returns thundering in my ears, and I would get her the moon to keep her looking at me like that.   
“I love you too,” I tell her instead, and it’s easier than I thought it could be, “I love you so fucking much.”

“Good,” She smirks, tilting her head towards the wall, “Because you’re going to have to help me cover this up.”

 

After we take a picture in front of our first masterpiece, we spend the whole afternoon spray painting the mural she designed over it. I try unsuccessfully to convince her to leave the original, but she insists on doing her job. It takes us longer than it should, since we can’t stop distracting each other and keep ending up tangled down on the floor.  
I smile until my face hurts, and make Brooke tell me she loves me over and over again.

Then I take her home, order dinner while she cleans up, and post a picture online.

I’d taken it after she’d made me go sit across the room, in punishment for sidetracking her for the sixth time. In the picture, she’s smiling over her shoulder at me for all my whining, while spray painting the finishing touches on the pier section of her outline of the city.  
It’s so perfect, I don’t even use a filter.  
I caption it ‘my girl’, then turn off my phone as Brooke walks out of the bathroom. She's just drying her hair with a towel, but she's wearing my favorite shirt, looking like all of my daydreams, and I plan to live in the feeling of loving her, and her loving me, for as long as I can.  
Possibly, hopefully, forever.

 

 

 

 

Brooke.

I had a plan for my life.  
There were charts, color coded sticky notes, timelines, and too many ideas of who everyone else thought I should be.

 

Then Jack Avery made that irrelevant by wanting just me, and offering himself and all the other scary things I wanted for in return.  
I don't think there was never a chance of us doing this perfectly, that was never in our cards, but I'm beginning to think that Hannah was right; this was always going to happen. 

He and I were always inevitable. 

 

That really wasn't the plan, but it is _so much better_. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> For S.  
> ‘Now do Noodles.’
> 
>  
> 
> And for N.  
> for loving me even when I sprawled too much on that tiny mattress
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Kudos and comments are always so appreciated!  
> Thank you for making it here.


End file.
